


A Gentleman's Guide to Suits, Ties, and (White) Collars

by VampirePam



Series: Men in Ties [1]
Category: Suits (TV), White Collar
Genre: Arguing, Banter, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dinner, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Flirting, Friendship, Limos, M/M, Matchmaking, Party, Star Trek - Freeform, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePam/pseuds/VampirePam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey visits his good friend Peter at work, takes one look at Neal, and decides he wants one; that afternoon he hires Mike Ross.  But when Mike ends up being more than a fling and tells Harvey he wants Peter and Neal to be as happy as they are, Harvey Specter somehow finds himself in the position of matchmaker at the world's craziest crossover dinner party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Have What He's Having

Harvey rapped twice on Peter’s office door, entering without waiting for a response. Between the impatient forcefulness of the knock and the self-importance necessary to enter an FBI agent’s office without permission, Peter was reasonably certain of his visitor’s identity, even before he turned around to find Harvey skeptically looking around his office.

“I know you said you were in the closet at work, Peter,” Harvey began smugly, “but I didn’t know you meant literally. This place is tiny!”

“Oh, haha, very funny, Harvey,” Peter shot back, though he was trying not to smile. “First of all, I’m not “in the closet”; it’s just not something that I broadcast. We can’t all work in a strange, parallel universe where all the male employees look like models, and there’s someone having sex in every supply closet. I swear, every time I’m there, I feel like I should shower afterwards.”

Harvey laughed appreciatively and said, sounding unabashedly proud, “Yeah, that’s Pearson Hardman, for you. It’s like Disneyland for adults.”

“More like adult film stars...” Peter muttered under his breath.

“Now, that’s not fair, Peter,” Harvey said, bringing his hand to his chest in a gesture of mock hurt, “Chad and Jeremy only did those films to put themselves through Harvard Law. And they both assure me that their work on “Buggering the Witness,” gave them a very firm grounding in objection procedure.”

“Wait, you mean to say that you work with actual gay porn stars who also went to Harvard, and I’m stuck with Norm the mail guy who loses all my memos and keeps calling me Derek? I hate you.”

“No,” Harvey corrected, “You love me, because not only did I strong-arm my client into handing over their employee list, but I also brought you some of that Italian roast you’re so crazy for.”

Peter reached for the coffee, but Harvey pulled his arm back a few inches and said, “Uh-uh-uh, no coffee until you admit you love me.”

“Fine, I love you, can I have the damn coffee?” Peter asked, grabbing the coffee from Harvey’s hand as soon as it was in range.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” came an amused voice from the doorway.

“Neal!” Peter exclaimed, his face turning slightly red, “Harvey, this is Neal, my C.I.  Neal, this is Harvey Specter, a friend of mine - he was a great help on that big racketeering case we had a few months back. Harvey works at Pearson Hardman.”

“Really?” Neal asked, his eyebrows slightly raised as he reached forward to shake Harvey’s hand,, “I’ve heard some things about that place.”

“Rest assured, they’re all true,” Harvey whispered conspiratorially as he took Neal’s hand and gave him a little wink.

“Did you, um, need something Neal?” Peter asked, clearly perturbed by what sort of mischief an alliance as unholy as Harvey and Neal could manage if left to their own devices.

“No, no,” Neal said, raising his hands nonchalantly while keeping his eyes on Harvey, “I just wanted to drop by and ask if you needed anything, but I see that you’re...otherwise occupied.”

“So nice to meet you, Neal,” Harvey called out as Neal turned to leave, “By the way, that’s a great suit.”

Neal pivoted slowly on one heel and gave Harvey a once-over which was just a tad too prolonged for Peter’s personal comfort level, “Thanks, yours too. Hugo Boss, Fall Collection?”

“You know your suits,” Harvey said, his eyes lighting up in appreciation as they roamed once more over Neal’s person. “Let me see, yours is quite unusual...vintage, but very high quality...I would venture a Devore, around 1958?”

“It is such a pleasure to meet a fellow aficionado,” Neal said, his grin growing wider. “The lining of this one was hand-stitched by Sy himself, you know. Apparently my gracious landlady’s late husband won it from him in a poker game. Care to feel a piece of sartorial history, Mr. Specter?” Neal extended his sleeve toward Harvey, as if offering him his arm.

“Oh, I would love to,” Harvey began, his smile becoming increasingly shark-like, but upon receiving a surprisingly intense death glare from Peter, amended it to, “Perhaps another day.”

“Anytime,” Neal said, taking the time to flip a sleek, black fedora onto his head with a swift flick of his wrist before ambling back into the main block of offices.

“I didn’t even notice he’d brought that in here!” Peter muttered in astonishment, shaking his head at Neal’s retreating form.

After he’d finished watching Neal walk away, Harvey declared resolutely, “That’s it, I want one.”

“What do you mean, you want one?” Peter asked, confused and a little scared. “Harvey, what on earth would you do with a C.I?”

“One who looks like that?” Harvey asked, turning to Peter with an increasingly predatory grin, “Oh, the mind boggles.”

“Well, if you’re set on ‘having one’ as you put it, then you’ll have to find one of your own, because Neal,” at this point, Peter came dangerously close to saying is mine and had a feeling Harvey knew it, “...already has a job.”

“Point taken,” Harvey said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “However, I now officially have no sympathy for your terrible plight with Norm the Mail Guy; I would say that getting to work with that everyday,” he continued, gesturing to the general area from whence Neal had departed, “more than tips the scales in your favor.”

“Neal is not a that, he’s a him, Harvey,” Peter corrected primly.

“Ugh, debating semantics bores me, Peter,” Harvey said with a wave of his hand. “Now, on the other hand, what interests me - just how built is he under that fantastic suit of his?”

Peter had sent Harvey a look which spoke volumes and let out an involuntary, “Mmmm...” before he could think to stop himself, and tried to recover with a firm, “We’re colleagues, Harvey, nothing more.”

“Did I imply otherwise?” Harvey said, his voice rife with mock hurt as he continued, peppering his speech with the liberal use of air quotes, “No, no, you’re ‘colleagues,’ it’s ‘all business’ between you. Believe me, I get it.”

“No, really, Harvey, that’s all it is!” Peter got the sinking feeling that nothing he said was going to do any good.

“Really, say no more about it, Peter. I understand completely,” Harvey replied, in a way that would have been reassuring if not for the shark grin he was still flashing.

“Well, regardless of whatever incorrect assumptions you wish to keep making about my relationship with Neal,” Peter interjected firmly, “the fact remains that you can’t have him. Go find your own consultant to ogle.”

“You know...I think I will,” Harvey said slowly, his eyes suddenly alight with anticipation, his grin Chesire Cat-esque, “I mean, I’ve got the associate interviews this afternoon, anyway. I’m sure the indispensable Donna can find me a suitable candidate. You, Peter, are an absolute genius, remind me to tell you that more!”

“I didn’t mean it as a serious suggestion, Harvey!” Peter exclaimed, “You can’t just hire an associate because you think he’s attractive!”

“Why not?” Harvey retorted, “Look, they’re all Harvard Law graduates, which means they’re all pretty much equally qualified on paper. Why shouldn’t I pick one whose...personal qualities will make pulling long nights in the filing room a little more palatable?”

“You know, sometimes you are downright ridiculous, Harvey - do you realize this?” Peter asked.

“Well, I can’t truthfully say I’m called ridiculous terribly often,” Harvey mused, “unless it is immediately followed with ‘-ly good in bed’.”

Peter barely resisted the instinctual urge to smack himself in the forehead with the hand not containing coffee.

“Still,” continued Harvey, glancing at his watch, “I really do have interviews to prep for, so I suppose I’d better be off. Are we still on for lunch next week?”

“Yeah, does the park at 1:30 on Friday work?”

“Sound great. I’ll be sure to give you a full update on my hiring decisions then,” Harvey said, giving Peter a little wink before he turned to go.

“Harvey, you are downright incorrigible,” Peter called after him.

Harvey popped his head back in the doorway, and said with a grin, “Now that one I will admit to being called. See you on Friday!”

With that, he was gone, and Peter was once again left with the unmistakable impression of having been momentarily placed in the path of a very charming tornado. Still, he supposed that was the price one paid for being friends with Harvey Specter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For simplicity's sake, in this crazy crossover universe, Peter is single (and gay). As much as I love El, and I do, she just would've complicated the storyline too much.


	2. How the Mighty Have Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter picks Harvey up for lunch at Pearson Hardman and, after being saved from Louis by the ever-awesome Donna, meets Mike for the first time. When Harvey quickly puts an end to them bonding over their shared love of cheap suits, Peter takes great pleasure in teasing Harvey about actually caring about his new associate.

Peter had just walked out the front doors of FBI Headquarters when his phone began to buzz in his pocket.  As he fished it out, he could clearly make out Bobby Darin crooning, “Oh the shark bites, with his teeth dear...”

Peter let out a little laugh, as he always did when he remembered setting this particular ringtone, and flipped it open, saying, “Hey, Harvey, what’s up?”

“Slight change of plans,” came Harvey’s voice from the other end of the line, and Peter could hear a lot of commotion in the background.  “Things are completely insane here today thanks to the complete incompetence of Louis’s team of associates, and my normal hour and a half lunch break has been whittled down to thirty minutes,.  Unfortunately, this means the park is out - can you meet me at the office, instead?  We could swing round the corner to that great little sushi place.”

“Only if we can ‘swing round’ to that burger joint instead, since you know full well how much I hate sushi,” Peter bargained, secretly pleased that, for once, he seemed to have the upper hand in the lunch negotiations.

“God, if you’re anything to go by, greasy cheeseburgers must be to FBI agents what donuts are to beat cops,” Harvey said with a dersive little snort.  “Fine, I’ll see you in a few.”

Peter heard a click and the dial tone once more, and returned his phone to his pocket while mentally recalculating his route to take him to Harvey’s office.  One fifteen minute walk later found Peter in the wood and chrome elevator of Pearson Hardman’s building, headed toward the thirty-second floor.  

Peter had only made it a few steps onto Harvey’s floor before he saw the one person he had been most hoping to avoid: New York’s creepiest litigator, Louis Litt.  Luckily for him, Louis was currently occupied sexually harrassing a distinctly uncomfortable-looking associate, but Peter knew that the second the terrified red-haired kid thought up a plausible enough excuse to bolt, Louis’s attention would settle on the nearest body, which he was very much afraid would be him.  

Shuddering at the memory of his previous encounters with the only man too creepy to get a date even at Pearson Hardman, Peter looked frantically around for the nearest source of cover.   Break room , he thought suddenly, catching sight of it out of the corner of his eye.   Bingo.   He quickly dashed over to pull open the brown door labeled “Employees Open,” slipping in and pulling it closed behind him.

He barely had time to let out a breath of relief before a cool, female voice asked, “Seeking sanctuary?”

“Oh,” Peter said, startled and a bit embarrassed to find an attractive redhead fixing him with an amused, expressive look that gave him the eerie impression that she already knew everything about him.  Since he figured lying to such a woman would be pointless and potentially dangerous, he gave a little shrug and added in way of explanation, “Louis.”

“Say no more,” she insisted, holding up a hand.  “It’s a smart man who knows when to run.  I’m Donna, by the way.”  She extended a perfectly manicured hand to him, which he shook affably.  

Suddenly, a lightbulb dinged in the back of Peter’s head.  “Wait, you’re not  the  Donna, are you?  Donna of, ‘Oh, don’t worry about it, Donna will take care of everything?’ Harvey says you’re absolutely indispensable, and he’s not a man to give compliments lightly.”  

Donna laughed and agreed, “No, he certainly is not.  And, let me see, you must be....” She gave him a quick once-over before concluding, “Peter Burke, Harvey’s FBI buddy.”

“He’s told you that much about me?” Peter asked, surprised.

“Just that you worked for the FBI,” Donna replied casually.

“Then how did you...?” Peter was perplexed and a little scared.

‘The suit,” Donna replied with a knowing smile.  “It rather screams Fed, I’m afraid.  One of the consequences of spending five years as Harvey’s assistant - I can identify a man’s profession by his suit with eighty-five percent accuracy.  Reliable grey wool, moderately priced for durability rather than flamboyance, bought around three to five years ago equals FBI.”

“You could do that at carnivals, make a lot of money,” Peter quipped with a grin.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever find myself short on cash,” Donna shot back, before returning her attention to his personal appearance.  “Now that tie interests me - lavender stripes of alternating lengths topped off with a sterling silver tie clip.  Decidedly more stylish than I would expect a G-Man to be wearing.”  

“Oh, well,” Peter mumbled, embarrassed again, “I didn’t actually pick it out.  They were both presents from a, um, co-worker...”

“Really?” Donna arched an eyebrow suggestively.  “Your co-worker has excellent taste.”  

“He certainly seems to think so,” Peter said dryly.

“You haven’t introduced him to Harvey, I hope?”

“Oh God, I made that particular mistake last week,” Peter said with a little roll of his eyes, recollecting the encounter.  “It was like a meeting of the Men’s Apparel Appreciation Society, only with a lot more flirting.”  

“That sounds about right,” agreed Donna.  “There’s not much Harvey likes more than a handsome man in a finely turned-out suit.”  

“How do you know he’s handsome?” Peter asked, realizing a second too late that he probably should have phrased that differently. 

“The length of your pause before you decided to call him a co-worker,” Donna replied. “Definitely handsome.”

“Oh, I don't think of Neal like that,” Peter interjected quickly, "I mean, sure, he's attractive, in an old Hollywood glamour sort of way, and, yeah, theoretically if we hadn’t already met, and I saw him at a bar, then maybe...” It occurred to Peter that this was a distinctly counter-productive line of reasoning, and he finished with a slightly panicked, “But it's really not like that!"  

Donna cut off his rambling by placing a firm hand on the lapel of his suit.  “Another consequence of working for Harvey," she said quietly, "Is that I am very, very discrete."  She leaned forward a little to whisper, "Your secret's safe with me."

Though he was still not entirely sure exactly which secret she meant, Peter nevertheless felt an inexplicable sense of relief as he said, "Thanks, Donna."

"You are very welcome, Agent Burke," Donna said, smoothing the front of his suit before slipping her arm through his and asking, "Now, shall I take you to go see Harvey?"

Seeing Peter's hesitation and seeming to read his thoughts, Donna said easily, “Don’t worry about Louis.  I’ve worked very hard to make sure he is properly terrified of me - and my ability to cry on cue - so you’ll be fine as long as you stick close.”

“I can see why Harvey is so enamored of you,” Peter said gratefully, opening the door for Donna before immediately tucking his arm through hers once more.   “You have an answer for everything.”

“It is my job,” she reminded him as they wended their way through the halls of Pearson Hardman toward Harvey’s posh office.  

“It just occurred to me,” Peter said suddenly, “Why haven’t I met you before?  I’ve picked Harvey up for lunch here at least three or four times.”

“Ah, but you see,” Donna murmured conspiratorially, “One of the perks of being so very indispensable is that Harvey lets me take the same lunch hour he does.  I’m only here today because Louis’s gaffe on the Perkins merger means that we’re all hands on deck for the next few days.” 

“That explains it, then,” said Peter with a nod. 

“How are you sure you’ve never met me?” Donna asked, baiting him a little bit. “You could have just forgotten.”

“You, Donna, are not a woman any man could ever forget,” Peter said gallantly.

“Why, if I didn’t know better, Agent Burke, I’d say you were flirting with me,” Donna teased, though she looked distinctly flattered by the compliment.  

“Oh, believe me,” Peter said dryly, “If I were flirting with you, you would know by the profuse sweating, garbled sentences, and unnecessarily loud speaking volume I would be using.”

“That bad, huh?” Donna asked sympathetically.

“Worse,” Peter replied, “I’m only telling you the least embarrassing parts.”

Donna let out a laugh and was about to reply when a cute, lanky guy in his mid twenties came running up to them and asked breathlessly, “Donna, can you please check this subpoenas for me?  If I’ve done them wrong again, I think Harvey might actually kill me this time.”

“Oh,” he interjected abruptly, noticing Peter.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were with somebody.  New boyfriend, Donna?” he asked, teasingly.  

“Actually, he’s here for Harvey,” she said, and though this was strictly true, from the stricken look on the young man’s face and the mischievous grin on Donna’s, Peter got the feeling that she was purposefully giving him the wrong impression as her way of making it clear that if they were going to play the teasing game, she was always going to win.

“Donna here was very kindly acting as my bodyguard,” Peter explained.

“And, as I see Louis nowhere in sight, it seems my services are no longer required,” Donna said, glancing around to confirm. “Therefore, Peter, I feel quite confident leaving in Mike’s occasionally capable hands, as I have a mountain of phone calls to return.”  With that, she unwound her arm from his and, after shooting him a little grin, walked briskly away in the direction of her desk.  

“Thanks a lot, Donna,” Peter called after her, before turning his attention back to the young man, who still looked distinctly unhappy.  

“Harvey and I are just friends,” Peter interjected quickly, in an attempt to put his new acquaintance out of his misery. “I’m only here to take him to lunch.  Peter Burke,” he said, extending his hand toward the other man.  

“Oh!” The young man’s face immediately brightened, and he shook Peter’s hand enthusiastically.  “I’m Mike Ross, Harvey’s new associate.”

“Nice to meet you, Mike,” Peter said, giving him a surprised once-over.  He had expected Harvey’s new hire to have the looks and arrogance of an Italian movie star.  While Mike was certainly attractive, Peter placed him distinctly on the “cute” rather than “hot” end of the spectrum.  He would definitely be asking Harvey at lunch when “adorable” and “eager-to-please” became his type.

After he had finished automatically assessing Mike’s attractiveness, Peter’s attention suddenly shifted to what he was wearing.  “Wait a minute, that suit -”

“Yes, I know,” Mike interrupted with a dejected sigh, raising his hands against the perceived attack. “I have been told by no fewer than seven people  today that it is a crime against fashion and, according to one particularly vehement prosecutor, ‘anyone with eyes.’ Never fear, I plan on burning it the second I get my first real paycheck.”

“No, it’s great!” Peter said sincerely, “Let me guess - Sal’s Suit Barn down on 47th and Lex?”

Mike stared at him for a few moments, sure Peter was just messing with him.  “You...know...Sal’s Suit Barn?”

“Of course I know Sal’s!” Peter scoffed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “God, I didn’t buy a suit from anywhere else until the day my boss gave me a not-so-subtle ultimatum and a gift card to Nordstrom’s.  Hey, does Sal still have that monkey with the eyepatch who watches you when you try on the suits?”

“Oh, Mr. Peeps? He totally does!” Mike’s eyes lit up again as he continued with a little shudder, “Man, that little guy gives me the creeps.”

Peter nodded in fervent agreement.  “Still, you can’t beat five suits for three hundred dollars.”

“Now he throws in a toaster if you buy ten,” Mike informed him eagerly.

“Really?” Peter asked, interested.  “Well, that’s new.  I might just have to stop by later, for old times’ sake, not to mention I do need a new toaster...”

“Wait a second,” Mike said, looking suddenly doubtful, “You’re really a friend of Harvey’s?”

“Trust me, sometimes I have a hard time believing it myself,” Peter said with a little laugh.

“No, absolutely not, this is not happening,” came an authoritative voice from behind them.  Peter spun around to see Harvey striding purposefully in their direction, his eyes switching between Peter and Mike.  “Peter, I will not allow you to poison my associate’s mind with your horrifying wardrobe habits.  It’s too late for you, and I’ve accepted that, but there may still be some hope for him.”

“Harvey, he really wasn’t - ” Mike began to explain, looking a bit anxious. 

“And  you ,” Harvey barreled on, turning his attention to Mike, “are supposed to be finishing those subpoenas, not chatting up my friends in the hallway.”

Mike turned bright red as he said, “No, I - I wasn’t chatting up anyone - I mean, Peter and I were just...er...I filled out the subpoenas!" he finished hurriedly, thrusting them at Harvey.  

Harvey regarded him suspiciously, but took the papers Mike was waving in front of him and skimmed them.  “Well,” he said finally, looking up, "Congratulations, Mike.  You now seem to have reached a paperwork competency level equivalent with that of an only mildly concussed first year law student.  I suppose that’s progress.”

“Oh,” Mike said, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, “Umm...thanks?”

“No time for celebrating,” Harvey continued briskly, “Thanks to Louis’s utter bungling of the Perkins merger, we are all on red alert until this thing is fixed.  I’m going to need you at my place tonight to look over the contracts for something, anything we can use.  Be there by ten o’clock sharp and bring coffee.  It’s going to be a long night.”

Peter watched a range of emotions pass over Mike’s face - surprise, apprehension, excitement - as he took in Harvey’s instructions and asked hesitantly, “Your place?”

“Donna will give you the address and the number of my limo service,” Harvey said impatiently.  “For now, go over those company bylaws with a fine-tooth comb, and highlight anything you find out of the ordinary.  I know how much you like doing that,” Harvey finished with just the hint of a smile.  

Mike grinned at this and said, “Yes, sir!” before darting off to find his highlighter, calling out, “Nice to meet you, Peter!” as he ran off.

“You, too, Mike,” Peter shouted after him.  

“Well, now that you’ve finished monopolizing my employees’ time, shall we go to lunch?” Harvey asked, only a little sarcastically.

Peter rolled his eyes and replied, “God, yes, I’m starving,” as they both began moving toward the elevators.  “So, that’s the new associate, huh?”

“My, I shall sleep sounder at night knowing the city is being protected by such observant men as yourself,” Harvey said mockingly over the ding signaling the arrival of the elevator.

“Since when do you spend your nights sleeping?” Peter shot back, which earned him an appreciative grin from Harvey as they both entered the elevator.  “Speaking of,” he said mischievously as soon as the doors had closed, “do you have anything...extra-curricular planned for your little study session tonight?”

“Honestly, Peter, you FBI boys have such dirty minds,” Harvey said. “Tonight is all about work.  I only chose him because he just so happens to have an eidetic memory, and I have a thousand pages of contracts to get through.”

“Oh, of course, you’re inviting him over to your ridiculously luxurious apartment with its panoramic views of the city to take full advantage of his....memory,” Peter said skeptically.  “So his lanky build and mile-wide smile have nothing to do with it, then?”

“Well,” Harvey admitted, the hints of a grin playing around the edges of his mouth, “Maybe not  nothing to do with it...”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere!” Peter exclaimed triumphantly.  “So you admit to being attracted to him, then?”

“Peter, I’m Harvey Specter,” he said with a snort of derision.  “With enough work and the right lighting, I can be attracted to anyone.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said doubtfully.  “And what about all this personal time you’ve been putting in to ‘mentoring’ him?  I know for a fact you’ve never done that before.”

“I just think he’s a good kid who’s had some bad breaks and deserves a second chance, that’s all,” Harvey said, looking, if Peter was not mistaken, a bit embarrassed at this line of inquiry.  

“You realize he worships you, right?” Peter asked.  

Harvey looked over with a sudden spark of intense interest, which he unsuccessfully tried to cover for by mumbling, “Well...you know...who doesn’t?”

Peter took in the sight of Harvey staring pointedly at his shoes before exclaiming gleefully, “You care!  You care that he likes you!  My God, is it even conceivable that...you know, I think it is! In a thousand years, I never would have guessed it was possible.  The great Harvey Specter actually cares about someone!”

“Shut up!” Harvey exclaimed, looking around instinctively as if to check no one was listening.  “I do not!” 

“Do, too!  Do, too!” Peter shouted, in a manner which he would admitted in retrospect may have been slightly juvenile, although not as juvenile as what he did next.

“Shut up, do not!” Harvey insisted, punching him repeatedly on the arm. 

Their schoolyard fight was interrupted by the elevator reaching the lobby, and a large group of Chinese businessmen entering the elevator.  The two of them made their way through the crowd, with Harvey quickly bowing his head and muttering, “Ni hao,” a few times, and Peter whispering, “Do, too!” and sprinting for the door before Harvey could respond.  

Peter wondered vaguely what those poor businessmen thought of a man with a badge laughing and running out a revolving door while being pursued by an irate lawyer shouting, “Do not, damn it!”, but, really, he was having far too much fun to care.  


	3. Table for Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harvey and Mike run into Peter and Neal at a fancy restaurant, movie quotes are swapped, exotic food is mocked, stories are exchanged, and Mike makes a surprising declaration which has the potential to change both relationships forever.

“I cannot believe you’re actually making me eat here,” Peter whispered to Neal as a smartly-dressed young woman led them to a cozy corner table covered with a white linen tablecloth and garnished by a small, flickering candle. 

“You ought to be grateful,” Neal whispered back, shooting the hostess one of his patented thousand-watt grins before taking a seat. “I’m rescuing you from another night in front of the TV, eating a frozen dinner and watching reruns of _Magnum, P.I._  Any more of that, and I’m going to have to dissuade you yet again from resurrecting “Moustache Peter.” 

“I think he looked quite rakish,” Peter defended, protectively smoothing his imaginary moustache. 

“He  _looked_  like a 70s porn star,” Neal said firmly, but was prevented from being able to mock his partner further by the sounds of raised voices nearby. 

“Listen - it’s Marisa, isn’t it? Marisa, I am a very loyal patron of this establishment, and this table is an integral part of my dining experience. If you would just talk to Francois, I’m sure he would tell you -”

“Harvey?” Peter asked, recognizing first the voice, then the hair. “I should have known this was your kind of place.”

“Peter?” Harvey turned around in surprise. “I wouldn’t have said it was yours.” His eyes flicked appreciatively over to Neal. “Lose a bet?”

“Yes, actually,” Neal replied brightly. “It’s so nice to see you again, Harvey.” Peter was dismayed but not surprised that Neal was flashing Harvey the same blinding smile he had given the hostess a few moments ago. 

“Likewise,” Harvey replied, mirroring Neal’s grin with his own, more aggressive version. There was the sound of someone coughing behind him, which caused Harvey to move to his right and add quickly, “Neal, I’d like you to meet Mike Ross.”

“Harvey’s associate,” Mike supplied, adding a brief pause before the word associate as he moved between Harvey and Neal to shake Neal’s hand. 

“Of course,” Neal said with a small nod of understanding, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mike.”

“And I trust you remember my good friend, Peter Burke?” Harvey continued.

“Oh, I could never forget a fellow customer at Sal’s Suit Barn,” Mike said with a laugh, shifting his hand over to shake Peter’s. “Great to see you again, Peter.”

“Do I want to know?” Neal asked skeptically, turning to look at Peter.

Peter placed his hand on Neal’s shoulder and said seriously, “I think it might do permanent damage to your delicate psyche”

When Peter turned back to Mike, he was a little puzzled at the amused grin the kid was sending his way, but had no more time to think about it before Neal spoke. 

“Marisa, have we prevented these kind gentlemen from utilizing their usual table?” he asked, turning his attention to the slightly flustered-looking hostess who had been watching the back and forth of the salutations as if they were a tennis match. 

“No, sir,” she said quickly, then amended, “I mean, yes, technically, but it is not the policy of Chez Papaye -”

“We wouldn’t want to disturb you,” Harvey interjected, sounding thoroughly unconvincing. “Really, we’ll just find another table.”

“Nonsense,” Neal insisted, “You must stay and have dinner with us. Mustn’t they, Peter?”

“Why not?” Peter said, throwing up his hands. “It will be fitting with the absurdity of this restaurant. No offense, Marisa.”

The hostess smiled enigmatically and said, “If you’ll give me one moment, I’ll have two additional place settings brought over.” Within seconds of her departure, two busboys swept over carrying chairs, napkins, silverware, and glasses and rearranged the table in such a way that it seemed designed to accommodate four all along. 

Neal moved so he was seated on Peter’s right, Harvey slid into the vacated seat next to him, and Mike took the remaining place between Peter and Harvey. 

“Well, I know that we’re here because Peter has an abysmal memory for movie quotes,” Neal began.

“Just because I messed up one, little line,” Peter protested, rolling of his eyes.

“I’m gonna  _give_  him a  _present_  he can’t refuse?” Neal asked incredulously, “What kind of sense does that make?” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Harvey interjected, holding up his hands and turning to face Peter. “You’re honestly telling me that you misquoted not only  _The Godfather_  - a serious contender for the best movie ever made - but also one of  _the_  most famous lines in the history of cinema? Please, tell me I heard that wrong.”

“I haven’t seen it in years!” Peter defended, as all eyes turned to him expectantly. “I really don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is that it’s  _The Godfather_ , Peter!” Harvey exclaimed. “It’s one of the greatest masterpieces Hollywood has ever produced starring some of the best actors in several generations! 

“Leave the gun, take the cannoli,” Mike chimed in, lowering his voice and taking on a gruff, Italian accent.

“I hope that their first child is a masculine child,” Neal contributed, raising a hand in his best imitation of Luca Brasi’s gesturing style. 

“It’s a Sicilian message,” Harvey finished, “It means he sleeps with the fishes.”

“What, you’re not going to do, ‘I coulda been somebody, I coulda been a contender’?” Peter asked incredulously.

“That’s  _On the Waterfron_ _t_!” Neal, Harvey, and Mike all shouted, in near perfect unison. 

Peter sighed and signaled for the waitress. “I’m supposing it’s a tad optimistic to hope you have any Heineken back there?”

She shook her head and shot him a regretful little smile. “I’m sorry, sir. I can bring you a Kronenbourg Imported from France, if you’d like.” 

“No, thank you, somehow I think finding out what the French consider beer would just make everything worse.”

“Ignore my philistine friend here,” Harvey interjected. “We would like an eighty-nine Chateau Margeau to start, please.”

“Right away, sir,” she said with a nod, disappearing once more into the main room of the restaurant. 

“What?” Harvey asked, seeing the look Peter was sending him. “A thousand dollars or ten dollars, it’s still booze, Peter.” 

“If you close your eyes and add a little salt, sometimes you can just about make yourself believe it’s an inferior beer,” Mike whispered to Peter, who had to suppress an instinctive giggle.

“For the sake of our relationship and my sanity, I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Harvey said with a pointed look at Mike. 

“Yeah, that usually does the trick,” Neal said dryly, flipping through the restaurant’s swanky, leather-bound menu. 

“What exactly does one order at a French-Thai fusion restaurant, anyway?” Mike asked as he too scanned the menu, his expression far less assured than Neal’s. 

“For starters, I would avoid the Galangal Escargot,” Neal advised, “unless you enjoy ingesting incredibly spicy snails.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Mike replied with a laugh. “Peter, I wish also to seek the council of my fellow hostage in this situation - what are you ordering?”

Peter was about to reply when Neal cut in first, “Oh, he’ll be ordering the cheeseburger, well-done, with ketchup, diced onions, and two crinkle-cut pickle slices.” 

“You don’t know that’s what I’m getting,” Peter said defensively, picking up his menu and opening it defiantly, “I could be ordering anything on this menu.”

“Oh, really?” Neal asked skeptically. “So, you’d be open to getting, say, the Yellow Curry Foie Gras, with a starter of Kaffir Bouillabaise and Green Tea Gateau for dessert, then?”

“Of...course I would,” Peter insisted, sounding almost convinced. “I’m not the kind of uneducated oaf who flat-out refuses to try the actual cuisine at a specialty restaurant. But if, after I have thoroughly perused the menu and compared the flavor profiles, I find that a cheeseburger is the item which most perfectly suits my taste, then I shall have no shame in ordering it.” 

“Ignore him,” Harvey commanded, leaning toward Mike and laying a hand lightly on his forearm, “A few years drinking FBI coffee will destroy all but the most resistant of palates. A Pearson Hardman man, however, must develop a refined taste sensibility if he wishes to succeed. For tonight, we’ll start small - I think the Poulet de Coco is just about your speed, rookie.”

Before Mike could think of an appropriate protest, the waitress returned with the wine. “Is it all right, sir?” she asked, pouring a little into Harvey’s glass. 

Harvey made a show of swirling the dark red liquid around the bottom of the glass and taking a lingering sip, his other hand still resting on Mike’s arm. “Yes, most excellent,” he declared after a moment, shooting the waitress a grin which was somewhat less predatory than usual. 

“Are we ready to order, then?” she asked pleasantly, her eyes flicking swiftly from one of them to another.

“Oh, I think we’ve all decided,” Neal spoke up, sending the waitress a grin to rival Harvey’s. “I would like the Yellow Curry Foie Gras, please,” he said decisively, shooting a challenging glance at Peter.

“Yes, and  _I_ ,” Peter said, briefly returning Neal’s gaze before pivoting to face the waitress, “would like a cheeseburger, well-done, with ketchup, diced onions...and three pickle slices.” 

“Very good,” the waitress said as she jotted it down, her expression very nearly masking her amusement as she turned her attention to Mike. “What would you like, sir?”

Mike was too busy stifling a giggle at Peter’s proud smile and Neal’s put-upon eyeroll to get an order out, which gave Harvey the opportunity to smoothly interject, “My friend here would like to try the Poulet de Coco.” He glanced briefly over at Mike’s face, which was arranged in a sort of manly pout, and added with a small eye-roll, “And a side of pommes frites, _lots_  of salt.”

“And you, sir?” she asked Harvey.

“Since  _I_  have a adventuresome palate, and you seem like a terribly bright girl,” Harvey began, too busy charming the waitress to notice that Mike’s pout had changed into a private smile, “Why don’t you surprise me?”

“All right, sir,” she assented, looking flattered. “Any restrictions?”

“Oh, I don’t believe in restrictions,” Harvey assured her, looking terribly in earnest.

“Only at dinner, or in other spheres of your life as well?” Neal asked teasingly as the waitress jotted down her final notes and made a quiet exit from the table. 

“I find they have this annoying tendency of making things...boring,” Harvey replied, turning to look at the man on his left. “Don’t you think so, Neal?” 

It was at this moment that Mike decided to reach for the bread in the center of the table, and in doing so managed to casually slide his left hand over Harvey’s while looking at Neal as if eagerly anticipating his answer. 

Neal paused for just a moment before letting out a little laugh and saying, “I think my partner would probably say I do better with a few restrictions, wouldn’t you, Peter?”

“Decidedly so,” Peter agreed, shooting Neal a surprised glance. He took a sip of the wine and was pleased to discover it did taste distinctly less posh with a little salt covertly sprinkled in it. “About two miles’ worth of restrictions, to be exact.”

“God, I walked straight into that, didn’t I?” Neal said, shaking his head.

“Always do,” Peter said, smiling mischievously , “You always do.”

“Okay, I have to ask,” Mike interjected, leaning forward a bit conspiratorially, “How on earth did you two meet?”

“I caught him,” Peter said gleefully, jumping in before Neal could offer his own version. “Took me two years of concentrated pursuit, but I succeeded where so many others had failed: I landed Neal Caffrey.”

“My God, two years?” Mike asked incredulously. “That’s a hell of a long time.”

“Well, when you’re going after something you want that much, it just kind of flies by,” Peter said a bit wistfully. 

“Peter, I do believe you’re a closet sentimentalist,” Harvey teased, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. “Spending two years chasing just one man? That’s a story I am dying to hear more about.” 

Peter had just opened his mouth to speak when Neal placed a hand on his shoulder and cut in, “Oh believe me, it’s nothing compared to the story of the day we met.”

“Do tell,” Harvey said, his head whipping left to face Neal, eyes alight with interest.

“It’s not really that good of a story,” Peter said quickly. He tried desperately to think of a distraction big enough to change the subject, but, as everything he thought up involved setting fire to something or someone, was forced to give up. 

“Oh no, you don’t, now you have to tell it,” Mike insisted eagerly, his attention focused entirely on Neal. 

“Yes, go on, Neal,” Harvey encouraged, “Peter’s worked very hard to keep all blackmail-worthy stories from reaching my ears, and from the look on his face, I’d say this is going to be a doozy.”

“Well, I’d just finished cashing in some allegedly counterfeit bonds at this bank in Midtown,” Neal began.

“You served three years in jail for faking those bonds, Neal, I think you can drop the ‘allegedly’,” Peter said dryly. 

Neal leveled a cool glance at Peter before continuing, “As I was saying, I’d just walked out of the bank, when whom do you think I see questioning the bank manager?”

“I know! I know!” Mike exclaimed excitedly, raising his hand in the air. Harvey sent him a very pointed sideways glance, and he lowered it a bit bashfully, but not before whispering, “It was Peter...” half to the others, half to himself. 

“So let me guess,” Harvey speculated, appraising Neal thoughtfully, “you walked right up to him and introduced yourself.” At Peter’s mystified expression, he grinned slyly and explained, “What? It’s what I would have done.” 

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I did,” Neal said, nodding appreciatively at Harvey. “I’d never met a Fed before, and I figured talking to him might give me some idea of whether the Bureau was onto me yet or not.”

“And so he came up to me, introduced himself, and that was it,” Peter interjected with a nervous laugh, “I told you it wasn’t a great story. Okay, who needs another bottle of wine?”

The others spared him only a brief glance before continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. “What did you say?” Mike asked eagerly.

“Well,” Neal said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I decided to play the ‘just another concerned citizen’ card. So after I went through the whole ‘Oh, you’re FBI, that’s so exciting!’ routine, I pulled out my best worried and adorable face and-”

“Okay, I absolutely do not consent to ‘worried and adorable,’ “ Peter objected, “That makes you sound like some sort of wounded baby deer.”

“A wounded baby deer you were only too happy to reassure by telling him all about the forged bonds you were investigating,” Neal retorted smugly.

“Got you there, my friend,” Harvey said, enjoying this immensely. 

“So he told you everything you needed to know,” Mike conceded, “that’s all well and good. But here’s the really important question - did you have a really great exit line?” 

Neal grinned even wider in anticipation of his favorite part of the story. “Okay, first, I thanked him for all the hard work he’d been doing on behalf of the concerned citizens. Then, to finish it off, I flashed him my best ‘charming everyman grin’, handed him the green sucker the lady in the bank gave to me accompanied by a casual, but sincere, ‘That’s for you,’ before I simply walked away.”

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Mike exclaimed appreciatively, raising his hand over the table to offer Neal a high-five, which the other man enthusiastically accepted. 

Harvey eschewed a verbal response in favor of laughing uncontrollably, and soon Neal and Mike were also doubled over the table in hysterics, tears streaming down their cheeks. Peter, meanwhile, sat stoically by, arms crossed, and waited for the wave of hilarity to pass. 

Once he had finally regained his composure, Neal turned to Peter with a contrite expression and pleaded, “Oh, don’t look like that.” He grasped his hand fondly as he added, “You have to admit, it is a great story.”

“Oh yes,” Peter agreed, “just like me catching you on, what is it now,  _three_  separate occasions is an equally great story.”

“Come on, only the first one really counts,” Neal scoffed. “Stop padding your record.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘stop padding your  _undefeated_  record?’ “ Peter asked smugly, which prompted a groan from Neal. 

It was that moment that the waitress chose to arrive with their food, which consisted of several plates topped by artfully arranged ingredients in a rainbow of colors...and one cheeseburger. The presentation of the cheeseburger caused Peter to grin, Neal to groan, Harvey to laugh, and Mike to look on enviously as he snuck an unhappy glance at his own exotic-looking meal. 

“Oh, would you just man up and eat the chicken?” Harvey asked exasperatedly when he saw Mike brooding. “Come on, it’s good, I promise.”

“Are you sure it’s chicken?” Mike asked doubtfully, “Last time I checked it wasn’t supposed to be purple.” 

“That’s just the plum glaze,” Harvey assured him. “It really sets off the coconut flavor.”

“I’m with Mike on this one,” Peter said, staring skeptically at the plate. “Chicken is one of those foods that should simply not be purple.”

“ _You_  are not helping,” Harvey said pointedly, shooting daggers at him before turning back to Mike. “Mike, the whole reason I brought you here is that this is exactly the kind of place lawyers for a firm like ours have to take clients, and on those occasions you most certainly cannot order a cheeseburger.”

“Fine,” Mike said sulkily, picking at the contents of his plate, “But I won’t like it.”

“That’s entirely up to you,” Harvey said resignedly. 

All eyes were on Mike as he raised a piece of chicken his mouth, chewed, then swallowed. His face remained carefully blank at first, but finally he rolled his eyes, smiled, and said, “Okay, that’s kind of insanely delicious.”

“Ha! Told you,” Harvey announced smugly. 

“Anyone else want a bite?” Mike asked round the table. 

“No, thank you,” Peter said adamantly. “Delicious or not, I have a firm rule about foods of an unnatural hue.”

“I’ll try it,” Neal volunteered. “ _I_  am not afraid of new experiences.”

“ _You_  should be afraid of food poisoning,” Peter retorted.

“Ignore him, Mike,” Neal said with a laugh. “Go on, impress me.”

Mike cut off another piece of chicken and extended it in Neal’s direction. Harvey and Peter exchanged brief, dismayed looks as they watched Neal slide his fork slowly down Mike’s until the piece of chicken transferred to it, then promptly popped it in his mouth and chewed it leisurely, declaring, “This may be the most succulent chicken I have ever tasted.”

“I’ll try it,” Harvey said, rather more quickly than he’d intended.

“Harvey, you’re the one who ordered it for me,” Mike said a bit sarcastically, “I’m hoping you know what it tastes like.” 

“Yes,” Harvey admitted, “But...it’s been awhile, and I want to make sure it’s as good as I remember.”

Mike shrugged, speared another piece of chicken, and reached his fork toward Harvey. At that precise moment, some strange, but potent combination of jealousy and competitiveness seized Harvey, and before he could stop himself or remember that he didn’t care, he had lunged toward Mike and eaten the proffered chicken directly off the fork. 

Harvey tried his best to ignore the looks of shock from his companions and pretend like essentially forcing his associate to feed him a piece of chicken in the middle of a fancy dinner was not an incredibly strange thing to do. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully, “Just as good as I remember. Thanks, Mike.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, Harvey,” Mike said after a pause, and Harvey was distinctly disturbed by the knowing smile on his face.

“So, Harvey,” Peter interjected, his face wreathed in a dangerously exuberant grin that troubled Harvey almost as much as Mike’s knowing one, “I feel like Neal and I were monopolizing the conversation earlier. I, for one, would love to hear the story about how you and Mike met.”

“Pretty straightforward, really,” Harvey said in an off-hand tone perfected with years of careful practice. “I was interviewing for associates, he came in, I hired him. Simple.”

“Now I hardly think one of the self-proclaimed best closers in New York City can’t tell a better story than that,” Peter said, crossing his arms. “What about you, Mike? How do you remember it?”

“Pretty much like that, really,” Mike said quickly, “I’ve nothing to add.” When Peter pulled out the “I know you’re hiding something” expression he reserved for interrogations, however, Mike added reluctantly, “There’s some parts that are, um, not fit for FBI ears.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” Neal said brightly, “We’ll just send Peter to sit in the car; I want to hear the story more than ever!”

“No one is sitting in the car,” Peter said firmly. “I’m assuming you didn’t hurt anybody?”

“Of course not,” Mike assured him.

“All right, then,” Peter replied, taking out his badge and putting it on the table. “For the purposes of this story, I am not Peter Burke, FBI, but rather Peter Burke, good friend and cheeseburger afficianado. Still, perhaps you’d better give me the edited-for-TV version.”

Mike and Harvey exchanged looks, and at Harvey’s nod, Mike began, “Okay, so, I’m in this fancy hotel to conduct some...business, when I run into some...trouble and am in need of an escape.”

“I, meanwhile, am in the downstairs ballroom being bored to tears by a bunch of Harvard grads, all of whom either think they’re the next Johnny Cochran or are wavering on the verge of a panic attack from talking to a real, live lawyer,” Harvey interjected. 

“So I run down five flights of stairs and across the lobby, looking for absolutely any place I can hide out for ten minutes,” Mike continued, “when I see this sign for interviews for Pearson Hardman. It hits me that this is the best chance I’m likely to get at avoiding the...trouble all together, so when I hear someone calling out for a candidate who wasn’t answering, I take it as a sign from God and barge right in.”

“I had previously instructed this someone - the indispensable Donna, whom you met, Peter - to give all the guys a hard time for being late, and to wink at me if anyone said anything clever. For legal reasons, I cannot divulge what Mike said, but it did earn him the only wink anyone got all day.”

“You never told me that!” Mike exclaimed, giving Harvey a playful slap on the arm.

Harvey shrugged and said with a grin, “I figured it would’ve inflated your ego.”

“Right, and there’s no place for inflated egos at Pearson Hardman,” Mike returned with an incredulous look at Harvey accompanied by an eye-roll.

“Okay, I’m clear on how this comedy of errors ended with the two of you in a room together,” Neal said slowly, looking between them, “But, Harvey, I have to ask - why did you hire someone who wasn’t even there for an interview when you had a waiting room full of qualified candidates?”

“Yes, Harvey, why did you?” Mike asked suddenly, leaning toward Harvey and resting his chin in his hand interestedly. 

“For starters, I was impressed by his balls,” Harvey started, but upon catching sight of the suggestive look Neal was sending him, added quickly, “er, I mean in telling me the truth, that he was just there because he needed a place to lay low. Not one of those Harvard types would have had the guts to be honest in an interview, not in a million years.”

“Wow, hiring a lawyer for his honesty?” Peter said sarcastically, “That is a new one.”

Harvey ignored him and continued, “And he has a...specific skill set which more than made up for his comparative lack of qualifications.”

“Really?” Neal said, grinning suggestively again and leaning forward to inquire, “Could we have a demonstration, or is it the type of thing that would get us thrown out of the restaurant?”

Harvey thought for a moment, then said calmly, “Mike - wine list, go.”

“You want prices, vintages, descriptions, the whole deal?” Mike asked.

‘All of it,” Harvey said firmly.

Mike then spent the next eight minutes reciting, verbatim, the restaurant’s wine list, which he had only seen for a couple minutes before Harvey had taken charge of the ordering. He finished with, “And last, but not least, an exquisite 1960 Chateau Lafitte, 85% Cabernet Sauvignon, 10% Merlot, 5% Petit Verdot, described as ‘complex, lush, and full-bodied,’ and topping off the price range at fifteen hundred dollars even.”

Neal let out a long whistle and and exclaimed, “That, my friend, is truly amazing. I mean, just imagine what you and I could -” He quickly cut off his daydreaming upon seeing the reproving look Peter was giving him and amended, “On second thought, better not.” 

“I don’t buy it,” Peter said suddenly. “Oh, not you, Mike” he corrected quickly, upon seeing the hurt expression on Mike’s face, “I have no doubt at all in your incredible skills. No, what I don’t buy,” he continued, turning to Harvey, “is that Harvey would hire you for such a personal position as his associate just for your memory. I mean, surely he could have kept you on as a consultant for a fraction of the cost and all the benefit.”

“You’d know all about that then, wouldn’t you?” Neal asked dryly. 

“I would, indeed,” Peter agreed. He remembered full well Harvey’s boast that he was going to hire an assistant as eye-candy, but after what he’d seen tonight, Peter seriously doubted that was the whole story. “So, come on, Harvey, out with it - why Mike?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Peter,” Harvey said a tad frustratedly, suddenly uncomfortable with this line of inquiry. “He just had something, that’s all. Something that made me think that not one of the thousand over-qualified applicants sitting in my waiting room had one-tenth of the potential he did. Something that made me want to give him the chance no one else ever had. Something that made me want him by my side...professionally speaking, of course.”

Harvey lapsed into silence, and the self-conscious look on his face as he purposefully avoided Mike’s gaze made Peter feel guilty for pressing a little too hard. Luckily, the silence lasted only a few seconds before Mike sighed and said seriously, “And here was me thinking this whole time it was because I’m so ridiculously attractive.”

This prompted an immediate rebuttal from Harvey and a spirited defense from Neal, and just like that the former, light-hearted spirit of the party returned. The next couple hours passed much as the previous one had, with conversation, wine, and laughter all flowing freely. Harvey persuaded everyone to order dessert, a course which Neal spent trying to convince Peter that the Green Tea Gateau really wasn’t that strange, and which Mike spent covertly stealing bites from Harvey’s Papaya Crème Brûlée when he wasn’t looking.

Finally, however, after Harvey had emerged victorious from the his battle with Peter over the cheque, the time came for saying goodbyes.

“Mike, Harvey, thank you for making this the best dinner I’ve ever been to at a restaurant of Neal’s choosing,” Peter said, shaking Mike’s hand before clapping Harvey amiably on the shoulder. 

“Oh, ha, ha, Peter,” Neal said, rolling his eyes. “I would be more offended if he wasn’t right about this being such an enjoyable evening.” He shook Harvey’s hand first, saying, “Harvey, always a pleasure spending time with another of New York’s best-dressed men.” 

Next, he turned to Mike and said, “And Mike, if you ever want to make any extra money on the side...” Once again, however, his train of thought was curtailed by a sharp look from Peter and he finished tamely, “...might I suggest dog-walking?”

Harvey laughed and declared, “We really should do this again sometime. And I’m not just saying that to be polite, because, well, you all know that’s not my style.” 

“Yes, indeed,” Mike said, laying a hand on Harvey’s shoulder. “It’s so hard finding anyone decent to double with in this city, don’t you find?”

“Double?” Peter asked, thoroughly confused.

“Date, of course,” Mike said smoothly. “I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to find you two. But, alas, all good things must come to an end. Come on, Harvey,” he said, taking Harvey’s hand and leading him toward the door, “you’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. See you two soon, I hope!”

Peter could only wave mutely at them as Mike dragged Harvey toward the door, the look of utter shock on Harvey’s face equaled only by the one on Peter’s own. Neal, as was so often his custom, remained inscrutable. 

It took a few paces in the cold air outside the restaurant to jolt Harvey back to his senses. He let go of Mike’s hand, causing the other man to stop walking and turn to face him, and exclaimed, “Now hold on a minute, Mike! Just what did you mean by ‘double date’?”

“Two couples going out to dinner,” Mike said matter-of-factly, tilting his head to convey confusion. “Wouldn’t you call that a double date?”

“Yes,” Harvey said impatiently, “But we are not a couple!”

“Oh, aren’t we?” Mike asked, feigning ignorance.

“Of course not!” Harvey exclaimed, frustrated. He moved closer to Mike and lowered his voice before adding, “Like I told you that night you came over to my apartment, I’m not looking for a relationship. This thing between us? It’s just sex - nothing more.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike said, looking amused as he crossed his arms in a way that Harvey found both patronizing and endearing. “So, that night a couple weeks back when I was sick, and you came over to my apartment...”

“For a booty call!” Harvey interrupted, “I object on the grounds of relevance!”

“And you made me soup,” Mike continued a bit louder, otherwise ignoring Harvey’s outburst, “And we ended up falling asleep together on my couch watching  _Galaxy Quest_? You’re really telling me that wasn’t a date?” 

“Now that’s not fair,” Harvey objected, “You have an abysmal track record of taking care of yourself, and Jessica would have made me fill out an absurd amount of paperwork if you died of starvation in your apartment. And, come on, how am I supposed to resist watching a brilliant, yet loving parody of  _Star Trek: The Original Series_  starring ultimate man’s man Tim Allen? You know how I feel about Captain Kirk, Mike! I feel like that’s asking too much.” 

“And what about that surprise picnic in the park last Tuesday afternoon, hmmm?” Mike asked skeptically, still looking intensely amused. 

“Oh, that was just a coincidence,” Harvey said with a laugh, confident that he had a perfectly reasonable explanation. “The new client meeting I’d booked for us just  _happened_  to fall through, and Donna just  _happened_  to have a picnic lunch hanging around the office because her date cancelled, and you’d just  _happened_  to mention only the day before how much you missed having picnics with your Gran and...” Harvey stopped mid-sentence as a look of shock came over his face. “Oh God - there was no client. There was no cancelled date. You arranged the whole thing, didn’t you?”

“Now am I capable of engineering a plan that complex?” Mike asked innocently.

“I am rapidly realizing you are capable of feats far more terrifying than that,” Harvey answered truthfully, his face growing a little pale. 

Mike simply grinned pleasantly and took a few steps toward Harvey. “I don’t know why you’re this surprised, Harvey; I would have thought that it was obvious by now how resourceful I am when it comes to getting what I want.”

Harvey instinctively threw up his hands and retreated a couple paces, his head spinning, but a thought struck him which seemed capable of returning things to normal. “Ha!” he exclaimed triumphantly, “You tricked me into doing all those ‘couple-y’ things, so they don’t count. What I told you before holds true - Harvey Specter does not date.”

Harvey was surprised when Mike, far from looking disappointed at the superior logic of his argument, instead took a few steps forward so they were standing mere inches apart. “Okay, then, answer me this - in the five weeks we’ve been sleeping together, how many women have you gone home with?”

Harvey thought for a moment and started, “Well, for starters there was...no, that was a couple months back...but after her there was...no, I guess that was just flirting...I mean, there has to have been at least...” Harvey swallowed audibly and admitted, his voice quiet, “By my latest calculation...none.”

“And why do you think that is?” Mike asked, a bit more gently this time.

 _Because it would have felt like cheating_ was the answer that popped immediately into Harvey’s head. Mike watched him intently, and, once he was satisfied that his point had hit home, wrapped his arms around Harvey’s neck and said with a little sigh, “Face it, Harvey - you’re about as good at not dating as you are at not caring about people. And trust me when I tell you that you’re abysmal at both.”

Harvey looked down at Mike and, though he was still quite disturbed by the idea that his associate - or was it boyfriend now? Dear God, he’d just voluntarily used the word boyfriend - was some sort of dating ninja, he found that he couldn’t work up any anger over it. In fact, the whole idea made Harvey feel strangely...warm. 

“And just who taught you to be so insufferable, hmm?” Harvey asked, though there was no real bite in his question as he wrapped his arms around Mike’s waist to pull him in just a little closer. 

Mike merely cocked his head to the side and smiled up at him, causing Harvey to think, Oh, right...me. 

“There are going to have to be some ground rules,” Harvey warned him.

“Of course, of course,” Mike agreed easily, and Harvey got the strange suspicion that Mike was just humoring him.

“No hand-holding in the office,” he began, as this was the first thing that popped into his head. “Oh, and you are not allowed to give me a ridiculous pet name. And...” He took one look at Mike’s admittedly adorable face, sighed, and finished with, “Screw it, we can figure out the rest later - come here.” 

\--------------------------------

Peter and Neal watched, spellbound, as Harvey pulled Mike into a passionate kiss, right there on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, paying no mind to the scandalized looks they were receiving from some of the passers-by.

“Wow,” was all Peter was capable of saying. “I mean, I figured they were sleeping together but...wow.”

“Like they’re in their own little world,” Neal said wistfully, still watching Harvey and Mike as they slowly pulled apart and walked out of view, arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists. 

“Can you imagine Mike thinking this was a double date?” Peter said with a nervous laugh. “I mean that’s...insane. You and me, dating? The very thought of it’s just plain laughable.”

“Yeah,” Neal murmured. Peter could have sworn a brief cloud passed over Neal’s face before he too laughed and agreed, “Utterly ridiculous.”

Peter was still laughing when they exited the restaurant, although more out of discomfort than because he found anything particularly funny. “Hey, do you want to come over to my place and look over the O’Brien file? I could use your opinion on the brushstrokes the forger was using.”

“Actually,” Neal said a bit hesitantly, “I think I’m going to call it a night. Long day and all that.”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter said doubtfully. As Neal turned to go, he acted on instinct and grabbed his partner’s arm. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Peter,” Neal replied, sending him a smile that very nearly reached the corners of his eyes. “I’m just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he turned away once more and walked away into the darkness.

“See you,” Peter murmured distractedly, unable to shake the feeling that something was bothering Neal, and whatever it was, it was all his fault. 


	4. Kirk, Picard, and Yente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey and Mike are busy arguing over who was the best captain of the starship Enterprise when Peter calls and asks them for advice about Neal. When Mike figures out that Neal has feelings for Peter, but Peter thinks it would never work, he convinces Harvey to come up with a plan to get them together.

Three hours later found Mike and Harvey sprawled in Harvey’s luxurious king-size bed, basking in the afterglow of a marathon session between the sheets and the surprising revelation that officially being in a relationship actually seemed to make that side of things better, not worse.

“Hey, Harvey?” Mike murmured, his voice slightly muffled from the proximity of his face to Harvey’s neck.

“Mmm...what?” Harvey mumbled, instinctively tugging Mike closer like a prized stuffed animal he was actively refusing to relinquish.

“Now that we’re official, there’s something I have to tell you,” Mike said, adding hesitantly, “And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Harvey eyes instinctively popped open. As he asked, “What is it?” he found to his chagrin that he actually cared what the answer was.

Mike rolled back just enough to prop himself on one elbow, looked Harvey straight in the eye, and said with the utmost seriousness, “I think Picard is a better captain than Kirk.”  
  
Harvey just stared back at him a moment, fighting his twin urges to laugh in relief that it was nothing more serious and to smack Mike for scaring him. He settled instead for replying in the most offended tone he could manage, “How. Dare. You. Get out of my bed at once.”

Mike merely raised an eyebrow at this last threat, as Harvey made no move to untangle his limbs from Mike’s. “Well, maybe not at once...” Harvey amended, the hint of a grin creeping around the corners of his mouth, “But don’t think you’re getting off the hook until you thoroughly explain what could possibly have made you come to such an absurd conclusion.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mike said quickly, “Kirk’s smart, brave, and compassionate, but he has too much ego to be a truly effective leader.”

"You are seriously picking a Frenchman with a British accent over James Tiberius Kirk?" Harvey demanded, outrage written all over his face. "The man is bald, for God's sake!"

"Don’t forget, Picard's all about choosing the rational course of action and not letting emotions get in the way. You should be able to appreciate that," Mike said with a smug smile.

Harvey faltered for only a moment before shooting back coolly, "And Kirk is willing to risk everything to help those in need, even when it's not the smart call. You should be able to appreciate that."

"Touché," Mike said with an appreciative smile. "But I'm afraid that leaves us at stalemate." He raised a hand to his forehead in mock distress as he asked, "How ever shall we settle this age-old dispute?"

Swift as lightning, Harvey spun his body so he was sprawled on top of Mike, pinning him to the bed. "Oh, I can think of a few ways," he said with a predatory grin.

Mike laughed and threw his arms around Harvey’s neck to pull him down. Harvey's lips had barely touched Mike's when his phone began to buzz insistently from its place on the nightstand. He raised his head to let out a growl and seemed all set to ignore it when Mike placed a hand on his chest, asking, "Aren't you going to answer that?"

"Probably just Louis," Harvey said dismissively. "Just because he has nothing better to do on a Friday night..." he shouted in the direction of the phone before leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the side of Mike’s neck.

"Could be Jessica," Mike murmured, though he let out a little moan and arched into Harvey's touch, "Or Donna."

Harvey sighed, leaned up again, and said, "You think about work too much, you know that?”

Mike reached a hand up and rested it on Harvey's cheek before saying with mock seriousness, "It’s all my boss’s fault - he’s very strict. Hot as hell, though."

"Well, remind me to have a talk with him about cramping my style,” Harvey replied, trying not to grin as he reached for the phone, “Even if he does sound exceedingly handsome."

After taking a look at the caller ID, he pressed the speakerphone button and called out, "Little busy here, Peter."

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” the voice on the other end asked, sounding equally apologetic and amused.

Harvey said “Yes,” at the exact moment Mike was saying, “Not at all,” which earned him a glare and a “What are you doing?” hand gesture from Harvey.

“Hi, Mike,” Peter called out, clearly trying not to laugh.

“Hey Peter,” Mike replied, waving off Harvey’s continuing fervent gesticulations indicating that he should wrap things up quickly and get off the phone. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother you,” Peter said, sounding thoroughly unconvincing.

“Don’t be silly,” Mike insisted, causing Harvey to let out a groan and roll off him onto the bed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Neal,” Peter said, sounding worried. “I think I screwed something up.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you two crazy kids will figure it out,” Harvey called out impatiently, “Cross that bridge when you come to it, absence makes the heart grow fonder, the sun will come out tomorrow, all of that nonsense - good night, Peter!”

“Ignore him,” Mike said firmly, batting away the hand Harvey was trying to use to hang up the phone. “Harvey always acts like a little boy when he can’t have what he wants when he wants it.”

“If you two are going to gossip about me, I’m getting a scotch,” Harvey grumbled, swinging off the bed and shuffling over to the bar.

“He’s so cute when he’s being grouchy,” Mike whispered into the phone. “Sometimes I set the alarm an hour too early just to listen to him grumble about how technology never works.”

“Ha, I knew it!” Harvey yelled triumphantly, skidding back over to the bed across the hardwood floors. “You’ll be paying for that one later, mister.”

“Yeah, he has ears like a bat,” Peter contributed. “Learned that one the hard way. I’d file that away for future reference if I were you.”

“I’ll do that,” Mike said, giving Harvey a slightly guilty, “You know you can’t stay mad at me” smile, causing Harvey to roll his eyes and stalk back over to the bar to finish fixing his scotch.

“Now, Peter, what’s this about screwing something up with Neal?” Mike said, returning to the subject at hand. “You two seemed so happy together when we left.”

“Well, that’s kind of the point, Mike,” Peter said, “We’re not together - not like that.”

“Oh, Peter, I’m sorry!” Mike said, with an embarrassed laugh. “With all the touching and the laughing and the eye contact, I just assumed...”

“Believe me, you aren’t the first,” Peter muttered just loudly enough it was audible. “Anyway, after you said that thing about it being a double date, I quite naturally pointed out how ridiculous it would be if Neal and I were actually dating.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike said skeptically. “Peter, I’ve got to be honest with you - I’ve had dinner with actual couples who had less chemistry than you two. Is the thought of it really so ridiculous?”

“Yes,” Peter insisted. “For starters, we work together.”

“Hasn’t stopped me and Harvey,” Mike reminded him. “Then again, not much stops Harvey.”

“Well, the FBI isn’t quite as...liberal about those sorts of things as Pearson Hardman.”

“Fair point,” Mike ceded, “But I’m guessing that’s not the only reason.”

“He’s a con man, I’m a Fed - it would never work, Mike. I’m not risking everything on somebody who could get bored and take off for the South of France at any moment.”

“And you told Neal this?” Mike asked.

“No,” Peter admitted, “I just said it was laughable and left it at that. His ego’s probably just a bit bruised at the thought that someone in the Western Hemisphere might actually be immune to his good looks and charm. I’m sure that’s all the wounded look on his face meant.”

“I don’t know, Peter,” Mike said doubtfully, “Are you sure you didn’t actually hurt his feelings?”

“I’ll make sure to bring him some coffee in the morning, give him a few compliments on the hat, things will get back to normal. I’m probably just working myself up over nothing - sorry for interrupting your evening.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mike said distractedly, “But listen, Peter, are you positive -”

“No, really, I’m sure it was nothing,” Peter interjected quickly, adding, “Tell Harvey I owe him one, would you?”

“I’m sure he won’t let you forget it,” Mike said dryly, though there was still an undercurrent of concern in his voice.

“You’re a champ, Mike,” Peter said admiringly. “I’m glad Harvey’s got you.”

Mike smiled and said, “Yeah, I’m glad Harvey’s got you, too, Peter. See you soon, okay?”

“Sure, kid, see you soon,” Peter called out amiably before hanging up.

“Did you catch all that?” Mike asked, not needing to turn around to know that Harvey was standing by the bed, scotch in hand, wearing only boxer shorts and a thoughtful expression on his face.

“The important bits,” Harvey said with a shrug, taking a final sip of the scotch and placing it on the bedside table. “Sounds like Peter’s got it all figured out. Now then, where were we?” he asked with a grin, climbing onto the bed and making his way toward Mike.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Mike asked, leaning against the backboard and crossing his arms.

Harvey thought for a second, then said noncommittally, “I believe Peter believes it.”

“You want to know what I think?” Mike asked thoughtfully.

“You always tell me anyway,” Harvey muttered, earning him a smack to the head with a pillow.

“ _I_ think,” Mike continued, otherwise ignoring Harvey’s interruption, “that Peter hurt a lot more than Neal’s ego tonight. And if he’s not careful, he could end up losing him.”

“You got all that from one phone call?” Harvey asked incredulously. “Peter said himself, it’s probably nothing.”

“It’s always the little things that cause cracks in relationships,” Mike said sagely, “and if you don’t fix them, those cracks can grow and grow until suddenly everything just falls apart.”

“Yes, thank you, Oprah,” Harvey said sarcastically, but the mockery in his tone was somewhat unconvincing.

Mike looked at him for a long second, then exclaimed, “Ha, you agree with me! If you didn’t, you would have jumped in and told Peter he was being an idiot. You think he’s making a mistake, too!”

“Even if he is, what do you propose to do about it?” Harvey asked, throwing up his hands. “We can’t just call him back and say ‘Oh, by the way, we think you and Neal would be perfect together and if you push him away, you’ll be making the biggest mistake of your life.’”

“Maybe not,” Mike admitted as a sly grin crept onto his face, “But perhaps we can think of a plan to help...push them in the right direction. I’m sure Donna would be glad to give us a hand, and we could probably enlist some of their co-workers from the FBI. They’d probably welcome an opportunity to get those two to stop dancing around each other.”

“I cannot _believe_ we’ve been dating for one night and you’re already making elaborate plans to set up my friends,” Harvey said incredulously, shaking his head.

“We’ve been _dating_ for six weeks,” Mike corrected. “It’s not my fault you didn’t realize it until tonight.”

Harvey rolled his eyes and said firmly, “Rule Forty-Seven of the Specter Code, kid - never get involved in anyone else’s relationships.”

“And how many rules exactly are there in this ‘Specter Code’?” Mike asked, humoring him.

“One hundred and three,” Harvey said seriously. “I’m thinking of having it published as a companion for my memoirs.”

“And I’m supposing that one of these rules is to never under any circumstances enter into a serious relationship?” Mike inquired shrewdly.

“Maybe...” Harvey admitted, not looking at him.

“Well, look how well breaking that one is going for you!” Mike exclaimed with a smile, as if that proved his point infallibly

“Jury’s still out on that one...” Harvey muttered, but he couldn’t help smiling just a little.

“Come on, Harvey, Peter’s your friend - don’t you want him to be happy?” Mike pleaded.

“Yes,” Harvey said slowly, “But it’s not as if he’s running around singing for Yente to make him a match, Mike, he’s a grown man! He can make his own decisions, and his own mistakes.”

“I would not in a million years have pegged you for a closet _Fiddler on the Roof_ fan, Harvey,” Mike said, grinning.

“Hey,” Harvey objected sharply, raising a finger in an admonishing gesture, “Don’t knock _Fiddler_. Spock was in _Fiddler_.”

Mike laughed for over a minute about that one, but when he finally composed himself, his expression was earnest once more. “I like Peter,” he said quietly, taking Harvey’s hand, “and Neal. Please, Harvey?”

Harvey sighed exasperatedly. “You care too goddamn much about people, kid, has anyone ever told you that?”

“You, all the time,” Mike said with a little laugh, but the earnest, pleading look on his face never wavered.

Harvey was smart enough to know that going along with Mike’s plan would probably only bring everyone involved a pile of trouble and would almost certainly wreak permanent damage on his hard-earned reputation for not caring. He was also smart enough to know that he wasn’t nearly strong enough to withstand Mike looking at him like that for more than a few seconds without giving in.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, rolling his eyes, “Tomorrow I’ll make a few calls, try to set up some sort of matchmaking task force. Happy?”

Mike grinned exuberantly. “You are a sweet, sweet man, Harvey Specter,” he said, leaning over to give him a lingering kiss.

“Yeah, well, if you tell anyone, I’ll have to fire you,” Harvey said with absolutely no conviction, running a hand through Mike’s hair.

“Deal,” Mike agreed. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“Now,” Harvey began, the shark-like grin returning to his face, “Since we’ve finally got that settled, how about we pick up from where we left off? Remind me where that was, exactly.”

“Well, I believe you were just about to try and convince me of Kirk’s superiority over Picard,” Mike said, tilting his head as if trying to recall.

“So I was,” Harvey said, his eyes gleaming as he lowered them both back onto the bed. “But tell me, Picard, are you ready to boldly go where no man has gone before?”

Mike simply grinned mischievously and said, “Make it so.”


	5. Specter's Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey, Mike and their crack matchmaking task force of Diana, Donna, Jones, and an uninvited Mozzie meet at Pearson Hardman to plot out their plan of attack.

Two weeks later, Pearson Hardman’s second largest conference room was abuzz with activity as Harold scurried around the table getting coffee orders from the various members of New York City’s newest matchmaking taskforce, most of whom were busy getting to know their fellow partners in crime.

“So you’re Harvey’s administrative assistant?” Diana was asking Donna.

“He says I’m his  _consigliere_ , but it does say administrative assistant on the paychecks,” Donna replied with a smile.

“You know, I was an AA for a week once as a cover," Diana recollected with a small shudder. "It took the entire White Collar division just to do my job well enough to not blow the case by getting me fired. How on earth do you manage it on a daily basis?"

Donna merely smiled enigmatically. “I’m supposing that ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you’ is an inappropriate thing to say to an FBI agent, but that’s the general idea.”

Diana leaned a little closer to whisper, “I hope I won’t find a horse’s head in my bed tomorrow; I don’t imagine my girlfriend would like that very much.”

Donna smiled mischievously and murmured back, “Well, I guess you’d better stay on my good side then.”

Across the table, Mike and Jones were watching the two women converse with undisguised interest. “So, tell me about the redhead,” Jones said, leaning slightly toward Mike so as not to be overheard. 

“Donna?” Mike asked incredulously, letting out a small laugh. “Way out of your league, my friend.”

“Come on, we just met, how do you know what my league is?” Jones challenged, looking a bit huffy.

“Unless you’re secretly Batman, I’d say she’s got at least one up on you,” Mike said dryly.

“That impressive, huh?” Jones asked, sounding even more intrigued. “What’s her story?”

“Well, there are several versions floating around the firm. Some of the associates are convinced that she’s secretly an ancient Greek goddess, sent to walk the world to choose who to save in the event of the next great disaster. Others just think she’s CIA.”

“And what do you think?” Jones asked, looking amused. 

“I’m leaning towards high-tech cyborg,” Mike said seriously before Jones’ incredulous expression resulted in him bursting into a fit of laughter.

"If we’ve all finished getting to know each other, shall we get started?” Harvey said commandingly from the end of the table, sending Mike a look eerily similar to the one his second grade teacher used to give him for giggling with Trevor in the back row. He had to fight an instinctual urge to mutter, “Sorry, Harvey,” and look down at his shoes.

"Now, I'm presuming you each know why I asked you to be here today," Harvey began, folding his hands together as he looked round the table.

"The assurance of future happiness for a pair of mutual acquaintances, surely," came a voice from the doorway. All eyes immediately turned to the small, bald man in glasses standing in the doorway with a newspaper folded under his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” Harvey exclaimed, his face poised in an expression of indignant confusion.

“A man’s identity is the most fragile thing he has and is often only found in moments of truth,” the visitor replied enigmatically as he moved to take a seat beside Jones.

“Harold!” Harvey shouted out the door, before turning to the man and saying, “I’d get out of here before he gets back if I were you; Harold may look like a scrawny Weasley brother, but rest assured, when he’s angry, that kid becomes one hundred and thirty five pounds of solid fury.”

"Would this be the same Harold who thinks I work for the secret service?" the man asked pleasantly. 

“He’s with us,” Jones said quickly, before Harvey could take more effective security measures. "He calls himself Mozzie, although his real name is anyone's guess. He's an associate of Neal's."

"And a friend," Mozzie objected determinedly. "Why else would I be sitting here in a room full of suits?"

"Should we be offended?" Donna leaned over to ask Diana.

"Probably," Diana said off-handedly, "But that's just his way."

At this moment, Harold sprinted into the room and stopped beside Harvey’s chair, trying to catch his breath. When he caught sight of Mozzie, however, he immediately straightened and gave him a small salute with a brisk, “Agent, Haversham, sir.” Mozzie responded with a small, but perceptible nod, which made Harold smile unabashedly. 

“Oh, uh, d-d-did you need something, sir?” he asked quickly, turning to Harvey as he remembered why he had run there in the first place.

“No, I suppose not,” Harvey said, rolling his eyes. “But stay close in case I need you.”

“Will do, er, sir,” Harold said quickly, sneaking another glance at Mozzie before he dashed out of the room once more. 

“Does this mean I get to be part of the task force?” Mozzie inquired, his smile distinctly reminiscent of the Chesire Cat.

“Fine,” Harvey said with a small sigh, “It’s looking like we could use all the help we can get. First things first: we need a plan.”

"What are our obstacles?" Jones asked, switching immediately into FBI mode. 

"For one, Peter doesn't think that a relationship with Neal would work because they're just too different," Mike answered. 

"And what about Neal?" Donna inquired.

"Neal's afraid that the Suit will never see him as an equal because of his criminal past," Mozzie said sagely. 

"Peter insisting to him that it was a ridiculous idea probably didn't help," Mike said ruefully. 

"Methinks the Suit doth protest too much," Mozzie replied with a small wink. 

"Is anything he says not a quotation?" Mike whispered to Jones.

"It's about fifty-fifty," Jones replied with a small shrug. "You get used to it."

"So how do we get them to realize they're being stupid?" Donna asked thoughtfully. 

"And that they're perfect for each other," Diana added.

In the few minutes of silence that followed, they each pondered the problem until Mike suddenly exclaimed, his face wreathed in a giddy smile, "I've got it!"

"That remains to be seen, but okay, hotshot," Harvey said with an irrepressible grin, "Impress us."

"Two words," Mike said, spreading his hands apart slowly as if to emphasize the building up of suspense. "Dinner. Party."

"Sorry, how is that a plan?" Jones asked, brow still furrowed. 

"No, it's brilliant," Donna said appreciatively. "Good food, wine flowing freely, friends nudging them in various directions...Of course, a fantastic view of the New York skyline would just put everything over the top." She sent a meaningful glance at Mike.

"Gosh, Donna, if only we knew someone who had a place with a view like that," he said in mock frustration, turning his head slowly toward Harvey and grinning. 

"You can't possibly be suggesting what I think you're suggesting," Harvey said incredulously, although the expression on Mike's face - half earnest, half enthusiastic, all irresistible - left few credible, alternate interpretations. 

“Please, Harvey?” Mike pleaded, “It’d just be for one night. What’s the use of having that amazing apartment if you don’t show it off now and again?”

“I use it for organizing my massive stamp collection,” Harvey said sarcastically, but upon seeing the amount of eager faces turned toward him, rolled his eyes and acquiesced, “Fine, I suppose we can have it at my place.”

“Have what at your place, Harvey?” came an unctuous voice from the doorway. “I hope you aren’t planning a party without inviting the firm. I’m sure Jessica would just love to hear about that sort of partisan behavior.”

“Louis,” Harvey said with a false smile, “I'll bet you were the kid who cried so hard that the teachers made all the boys and girls bring everyone cards on Valentine’s Day, weren't you?”

Mike let out a snicker, which he unsuccessfully tried to pass off as a cough after receiving a kick beneath the table from Donna, though she herself was patently trying not to laugh. 

"So, it’s okay if I tell everyone about your little soiree, then?" Louis asked smoothly, though Mike could tell from the slight flush of his face that Harvey's comment had hit home. 

“Of course,” Harvey replied, equally smoothly, “Just saves me the trouble. And since you’re so kindly offering to take care of that end of things, I trust you won’t mind sending out my customary gold-leaf invitations? Unless, of course, it’s a little out of your price range...”

“Not at all,” Louis said quickly, although it was patently obvious that he was trying to mentally calculate the cost of sending out gilded pieces of paper to a law firm full of people. 

“Excellent,” Harvey said brightly, “Donna will give you the number of the place, won’t you, Donna?”

“I’m here to serve,” she said facetiously, her mocking grin an exact twin of Harvey’s. 

“Great, I’ll…ask you for that later,” Louis said before he swiftly departed, probably hoping to avoid being asked to do anything else. 

“Oh, and since you’re in an obliging mood, you won’t mind bringing the cake, then?" Harvey called after him, just loudly enough that Louis couldn’t reasonably pretend he hadn’t heard. 

As Louis turned around just enough to give him a slight nod before rushing off, Harvey shouted, “Thanks, buddy!” before closing the door to the conference room once again.

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” he said irritably in the direction of Mike, who was shooting Harvey his patented  _come on, you know you love me_ smile. “I am now apparently throwing a party for the entire firm. God, why do I let you talk me into these things?”

“Because I’m adorable,” Mike said with a grin that made it impossible for Harvey to argue. “And weren’t you the one who said that ‘doing good work wasn’t the whole job’ and presenting a confident image was as important as courtroom performance?”

“I can’t recall,” Harvey said with a sniff, his version of reluctantly ceding the point. 

“This could be good, actually,” Donna chimed in, bringing them back to the subject at hand. “A large party will seem less like a set-up.”

“Hang on a second,” Jones interjected. “How on earth are we going to justify the presence of Diana, Mozzie, and myself at a party otherwise comprised entirely of members of your law firm?”

“Have no fear on my account,” Mozzie said sagely. “I shall be as stealthy as a shadow, as silent as the wind.”

“Well, that’s taken care of, then,” Harvey said sarcastically.

Mozzie heaved a put-upon sigh and reluctantly elaborated, "I'll pretend I'm one of the catering staff and stay out of sight. Neither of them will ever know I was there."

"And then there were two," Mike said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Clinton can be my date,” Donna offered, and, upon seeing the interested gleam in Jones’ eye, added mischievously, “Seeing as your gorgeous colleague here is sadly taken.” The shock on Jones’ face caused both Diana and Mike to burst out laughing, resulting in Harvey seizing control of the room once again.

“Thank you for that, Donna,” he said, sending her a pointed stare. “Now Diana, do you think you can get Peter to invite you?”

“Shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll just mention casually that Christie keeps saying that we never go anyplace exciting anymore. That should do the trick.”

“That takes care of how to get everyone there,” Mike said thoughtfully, “so all that's left is to decide on the plan."

“We need props,” Harvey said definitively. “Harold!”

The increasingly terrified-looking associate sped into the room from his position just outside the door. “Yes, Harvey...er...Mr. Specter...er...sir?” 

Harvey kindly chose to ignore the kid’s utter confusion as to how to properly address him and commanded, “Go to the kitchen, get us salt and pepper shakers, a small bottle of tabasco sauce, a sugar spoon...and four other small objects of your choice.”

“My ch-ch-choice?” Harold stammered, looking panicked. “I wouldn’t know what to...I mean, if it’s lunch that you want, I’m sure I could...”

“Harold, if you are ever lucky enough to become senior partner - which I assure you won’t happen if you don’t develop a little more imagination - you will come to understand that there are complex, legal machinations behind all of my actions, and I assure you that they go far beyond merely desiring lunch.”

Harold’s already pale complexion grew a shade whiter as Harvey’s words sank in, and he squeaked out, “Yes, of course, sir! Sorry, sir!” before running toward the break room in search of the asked-for items. 

“That was a bit unnecessary, don’t you think, Harvey?” Mike admonished lightly, looking sympathetically in the direction of Harold’s retreating form.

“Maybe,” Harvey admitted with a grin, “But it was fun.”

Harold returned in record time with the requested ingredients, in addition to an espresso cup, a corkscrew, a small measuring cup and a bottle cap.

“Well done, kid,” Harvey proclaimed, which caused Mike to smile. “We might just make a lawyer out of you yet.”

Harold’s face flushed as he muttered, “Thank you, Mr. Specter,” and scrambled from the room, probably wanting to quit while he was ahead.

“If we’ve finished with the ‘confusing the associates’ portion of the day,” Donna said dryly, “we should get down to the important matters, namely who gets to be what.” She sent an appraising glance over the various objects, even prodding a few with her pen. 

“I would like to lay claim to the small, espresso vessel,” Mozzie interjected, “on the grounds that it, like myself, is small but capable of containing potent possibilities.”

“Okay,” Harvey said slowly, the disconcerted expression on his face clearly telegraphing that he was seriously debating whether or not Mozzie was some sort of alien. He snuck a look at Diana, who gave him a small,  _just go with it_  motion with her hand. “Although I think Peter might fight you for it if he were here. Anyone else have a suggestion?”

“I think Donna should be the tabasco sauce,” Jones said with a flirtatious smile.

“What, because you think I’m hot?” Donna challenged, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Because I think you’re more than most people can handle, and you have the potential to add spice and flavor to otherwise ordinary things,” Jones corrected smoothly.

Donna hesitated a moment before giving him an approving smile, in addition to a swift but noticeable once-over, as she took the tabasco sauce from the center of the table and placed it at her right hand. 

"Well, I guess that makes you the sugar spoon," she said, sliding it slowly across the table toward him.

"I can live with that," Jones replied, picking it up and twirling it between his fingers.

"If you two have quite finished flirting via inanimate object," Harvey said sarcastically, an echo of the tone Donna had used on him moments before, causing Jones to sink back a little in his seat and Donna to stare unrepentantly at him, "perhaps I can speed this along, you know, maybe finish planning the party by the time I have to throw it. I'll be the pepper, Mike the salt, Diana the measuring cup...."

"Which leaves the corkscrew and the bottle cap for our marks," Mike finished brightly, adding with a smile, “I trust you can figure out who is which.” He slowly began moving the various objects around the table like pieces on a chessboard and motioned for everyone to lean in closer as he began, "Now, here's what I was thinking..."


	6. The Way You Look Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of Harvey's party has finally arrived - Peter and Neal have a very eventful ride there with Diana, Christie, and a special guest appearance by New York's most dedicated limo driver.

_One week later._

"Remind me why I'm doing this again," Harvey said, glancing around his newly decorated apartment with something akin to despair.

"Because you can't say no to me," Mike said with a grin.

Harvey seemed about to argue, but one look at the gigantic ice sculpture atop his dining room table caused him to deadpan instead, "So it would seem."

"And," Mike added, stepping forward to place his palms on Harvey's chest, "because underneath that perfectly tailored tuxedo jacket beats the heart of a man who actually cares about his friends and wants them to be happy."

"Oh, so you've got me all figured out, have you?" Harvey asked, cocking his head doubtfully to one side.

"I'm sorry to say that you are far less mysterious than you think you are," Mike retorted with a bright flash of a smile.

"Okay then,” Harvey challenged, crossing his arms, “What am I thinking right now?”

Mike looked him over appraisingly for just a second before leaning in to whisper, “You’re thinking that with the way that I look in this tuxedo you made me buy, you’re going to have an awfully hard time keeping up the fiction that we aren’t sleeping together.”

When Mike pulled back, he could see Harvey’s eyes gleaming with mischief and desire. “And you,” Harvey murmured, grabbing Mike’s hips and pulling them against his own, “are thinking that since I will be forced to keep my hands off you during the party, I would be a fool not to take advantage of the time we have now.”

“Harvey, you never told me you were psychic,” Mike exclaimed in mock amazement as he moved his hands around to the small of Harvey’s back. “But we only have fifteen minutes before the guests arrive.”

The grin which Harvey gave him was positively shark-like. “Then it’s a good thing,” he whispered, “they don’t just call me New York’s best closer for my legal abilities, isn’t it?”

 _One hour later, in a townhouse across town..._

“I don’t see why I can’t just wear my normal work outfit,” Peter objected, as Neal wound the purple silk tie around his neck. “It's a suit!”

“First of all, that is seriously debatable,” Neal said with a small shudder. "Second, this is not the sort of event where a bordering-on-threadbare pants and jacket set from a place called Sal's Suit Barn is going to cut it."

"I'll have you know that I've worn this suit to many an office party and never gotten any complaints,” Peter objected a bit petulantly.

“Peter, this isn’t Norm the Mail Guy’s retirement bash,” Neal retorted impatiently as he affixed a cuff-link to Peter's reluctantly proffered wrist. "Pearson Hardman soirees are some of the ritziest in the city, and on the rare occasions that Harvey Specter throws one, no one can talk about anything else for at least a week. Honestly, I don't even think the doorman would let you in dressing how you normally do."

"Well, I'm sure that I could persuade him of my fashion sense by displaying an appropriate accessory," Peter said sarcastically, holding up his badge.

"It does go with everything,” Neal admitted with a mischievous smile as he tugged Peter’s jacket into place. “There, all finished. Now, was that really so bad?”

“I’ll let you know at the end of the night,” Peter said, turning to glance at his reflection in the full-length mirror before turning back to Neal. “All right,” he said, letting out a slightly nervous exhale, “be honest with me - how do I look?”

“Perfect,” Neal said quietly, sending Peter a taut little smile as he gave the jacket one more brush down. “You look perfect.”

Peter was puzzled by the aura of melancholy he could swear was lurking beneath his partner’s normally insouciant demeanor, but before he could ponder it further, there was a knock at the door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” came a pleasant female voice, which Peter recognized as June’s even before they both turned to look toward where she was standing in the doorway. “Oh, don’t you boys look so handsome!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together excitedly.

Neal’s grin returned as he strolled over to give June a quick peck on the cheek. “You sure you don’t want to come, June? Harvey said we could bring guests.”

“That is so sweet of you, Neal, dear,” she said, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze, “But I think I’d just be in the way, don’t you?” She shot Neal a little wink.

Peter was just about to ask exactly what she thought she would be getting in the way of when she went on, “Actually, I just came up to tell you boys that your ride is here.”

“Our ride?” Neal and Peter asked in near perfect unison, exchanging a pair of confused glances.

“It’s out front,” she called over her shoulder, turning to leave. “And I would hurry up if I were you - there are a pair of lovely ladies inside who probably don’t want to be kept waiting.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the party and this evening is already something out of Alice in Wonderland!” Peter exclaimed despairingly, once June was out of earshot. “Can’t we just stay here and watch a movie? I’ll even let you pick.”

“First of all, I always pick,” Neal retorted with a sly grin, “I just sometimes let you think that you do.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue against this claim, but Neal went on smoothly, “And second of all, we promised Harvey that we would be there, and you and I both know you are not the type of man who breaks promises.”

Neal knew he had him there. “Fine,” Peter grumbled, shuffling toward the door, “but I am making no further promises this evening, I’ll tell you that.”

“Deal,” Neal said with a smile, following him out into the hallway.

“Oh, and Neal?” Peter added a bit hesitantly as they both wound their way down the stairs.

“Yeah, Peter?” Neal turned his head to look inquiringly at his partner.

“Not that your ego needs any further bolstering but you...um...you look....good, too,” Peter said, surprised at the slight flush he could feel creeping into his cheeks.

“Well, thank you, Peter,” Neal said, sounding equally pleased and surprised. “I shall be filing that away for future use.”

“Yes, I thought you might be,” Peter deadpanned, but he couldn’t help smiling the second Neal had turned away to finish his descent down the stairs.

Each was so engrossed with winning their unofficial bantering contest that it took them a full ten seconds after leaving June’s front door to register the sumptuous stretch limo parked innocuously by the curb in front of the townhouse.

“What the -?” Peter exclaimed, his hand reaching instinctively for where his gun would otherwise have been.

“Easy, Butch,” Neal said, laying his hand on top of Peter’s. “I’m thinking this is just Harvey showing off.”

Peter raised his eyes to the heavens, silently asking what could have possessed him into agreeing to attend what would surely be a complete fiasco, and reluctantly followed Neal down to the limo. To his surprise, the door swung open from the inside, and a slightly tipsy female voice called out, “Party’s in here, boys!”

“Diana?” Peter asked incredulously as he slid beside his partner onto the black leather seat opposite her.

“Your friend Harvey sure knows how to show a girl a good time,” Diana said happily, gesturing emphatically with her champagne flute.

“And...in the interests of saving the limo’s upholstery from permanent injury, I think that’s quite enough of that,” Christie said firmly, grabbing the slender glass from her girlfriend’s hand and placing it gently on furthest flat surface possible.

“May I say that you ladies are twin visions of loveliness this evening?” Neal said gallantly, causing Peter to roll his eyes and mouth “show-off” at him.

"Well, thank you, Neal, that's very sweet," Christie said with a smile.

"Keep your purse close, Christie," Diana whispered loudly, eyeing Neal suspiciously. "Whenever he's being charming, it's usually not long before something in the vicinity goes missing."

"Why Agent Barrigan, you wound me!" Neal exclaimed, expending a lot of effort on looking maligned. “I would never thinking of stealing from a lady as gracious as your girlfriend. Peter, on the other hand...” Neal’s insulted expression shifted instantaneously to one of amused glee as he casually withdrew a battered leather wallet from inside his tuxedo jacket.

Peter’s eyes widened as he fruitlessly felt inside his jacket for where the wallet should have been and demanded, “When did you take that?”

Neal shrugged, still grinning impishly. “When I was brushing down your jacket. You really do make it a bit too easy sometimes.”

“Remind me why I asked you to come with me to this thing?” Peter asked a bit grumpily as he snatched the wallet from Neal’s hand and returned it to its rightful place inside his jacket.

“Because you are only marginally better at small talk than you are at flirting, and we all know how badly that always goes,” Neal said, shooting him a pointed look. Diana nodded fervently in agreement, while Christie gave Peter a small, apologetic smile.

“I think parties are always much more fun when you have someone you love being around to go with,” Christie mused thoughtfully. "That way, even if every other person there is a total boor, you're still in wonderful company."

Diana reached over to grasp Christie’s hand, and the look that passed between them was filled with such genuine affection that it caused a strange stirring in Peter’s chest that he was in no hurry to label.

He began to say something to Neal, but when he turned, his partner was gazing out the window, staring out at the passing city lights with uncharacteristic intensity.

Any effort Peter might have made to ascertain the source of his partner’s malaise was cut off when the barrier between the front and back seats lowered, and a cheerful, accented voice called out, “Hello!”

A universal reply of “Hello” sounded back to him, its component voices, Peter noted, ranging in enthusiasm from very - an alcohol-fueled Diana - to polite - a still uncharacteristically withdrawn Neal.

“Let’s get this party started!” the driver announced happily, turning on some upbeat, pulsating music. “I borrowed this CD from a young friend of mine. He calls it his “Get Psyched Mix.” You must tell me if it lives up to the name!”

“I love this song!” Diana shouted after a minute, beginning to dance as enthusiastically as she could while still remaining in her seat.

“What?” Peter yelled back, raising a hand to his ear to indicate he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

“I said,” Diana, still dancing, shouted impatiently at an even louder volume, “that I love this song!”

Peter rolled his eyes and turned the music down to half volume, much to the dismay of a now-pouting Diana, to inquire of the driver, “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“I am Ranjit!” the driver called back. “My cousin Ray has been Mr. Specter’s driver for eight years now, and he usually requests my services when he has some extra special party guests.”

“Pleasure to meet you Ranjit,” Neal contributed, with, Peter was relieved to see, a smile once again on his face.

“And it is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Caffrey,” Ranjit replied, turning and adding with a wink, “or should I say Mr. Bonds?”

“Look at that, Peter, I’m famous,” Neal said with a triumphant grin.

“Oh, yes!” Ranjit exclaimed eagerly, “I have read of your adventures in the newspapers many times. Such thrilling capers!”

“Yes, and did it happen to mention who managed to outsmart him and put an end to all those thrilling capers?” Peter interjected with a pointed look at Neal.

“I cannot recall,” Ranjit said off-handedly. “I remember thinking it seemed a pity, putting an end to the work of such an artist.”

Peter prevented an obviously thrilled Neal from contributing anything further to the discussion by adding sarcastically, “And a pity that this artist’s work got him three to five in prison.”

“Still, now you’re out of the big house and back on the streets again, Mr. Caffrey,” Ranjit went on, undeterred. “You belong to all the beautiful ladies of New York once more, eh?”

“Actually, for the past few years, he’s belonged exclusively to me,” Peter corrected, a tad more possessively than he’d meant to. He reddened when he saw the way Neal was looking at him and mumbled, “You know I didn’t mean it like that...”

“Oh, of course!” Ranjit said slowly, “Forgive me, I understand perfectly now. And may I say that after years of having to put up with ill-mannered businessmen, constantly jabbering away on their cellular phones, that it is a privilege to be able to drive two such handsome couples?”

Diana snorted into her hand at this and was elbowed in the ribs by Christie, who appeared to be suppressing a laugh of her own.

“One,” Peter corrected through gritted teeth, wondering despondently why this just kept happening to them.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Ranjit exclaimed. “The egg, is it ever on my face! Forgive me - I can never tell with you young ladies today.”

The laugh which Diana had been valiantly suppressing burst forth violently at this second declaration. Christie was helpless in the face of such overpowering amusement not to join in, and soon they were both doubled over in giggles, clutching one another for support. Even Neal couldn’t help but chuckle at the put-upon look on Peter’s face, although the laughter did not quite reach his eyes.

Before Peter could decide whether he wanted to brave a second attempt at correcting Ranjit’s assumption, the driver had stopped the car and called out, “Here we are - it is time to party!”, seemingly unaware of his mistake or the mirth it had stirred in some of the company.  
After the four of them had murmured their thanks to Ranjit and extracted themselves from the cab - some with more difficulty than others - the little group made their way into the lobby of Harvey’s luxury apartment building.

“Is she going to be okay?” Peter asked Christie, glancing a bit doubtfully at where Diana was hanging on Christie’s shoulder and whispering something gleefully in her ear.

“You two go on up,” Christie said with a laugh, “A glass of water and a few minutes in the ladies room and she’ll be ready for action.”

Diana mumbled something about being very ready for action indeed as Christie maneuvered her toward the door to the restroom, throwing Neal and Peter an apologetic, but reassuring glance as they both continued inside.

Once the restroom door swung shut, however, all traces of Diana’s supposed intoxication melted instantaneously away. After extricating herself from her girlfriend, smoothing out her dress, and refreshing her lipstick, Diana raised a hand to her ear and murmured in a low voice, “Connery, come in Connery, can you hear me?”

She waited a few seconds, then went on, “Newman and Redford are headed up now. Everything went as planned in the limo - now it’s your turn.”

Another few seconds, a small smile. “I’ll tell her. See you in a few.”

Diana lowered her hand from her ear and turned to tell her girlfriend, “Harvey says thanks again for helping.”

“Well, he’s very welcome,” Christie said warmly. “I’m happy to do my part to help the course of true love run smooth.”

“Yes, well, how smooth it’s running remains to be seen,” Diana said dryly, “But no one can say we didn’t try.”

“Speaking of trying, shouldn’t we get up there? Neal and Peter will be wondering where we are.”

“Believe me, with what’s waiting for them up there, they will have forgotten entirely about us within the space of five minutes,” Diana assured her. “Besides, with all the rushing around tonight, I never got a chance to tell you how gorgeous you look in that dress.”

“Neal said I was a vision of loveliness,” Christie said with false smugness, “I think gorgeous might be a step down.”

“Well, then,” Diana said with a mischievous grin, taking a few steps toward her girlfriend, “If telling isn’t enough, I guess I’m going to have to show you.”

If the two security guards in the lobby thought the two well-dressed women in Mr. Specter’s party spent a disproportionate amount of time in that bathroom - and looked distinctly more rumpled when they came out than when they went in - well, they were far too well trained to say anything about it.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As he and Neal ascended toward Harvey’s penthouse in a stylish, if slightly terrifying glass elevator, Peter began to rummage frantically in his tuxedo jacket.

“What are you looking for now, Peter?” Neal asked, glancing at his partner with amusement.

“My phone,” Peter said absently, finally pulling it out with an exclamation of triumph. “I want to make sure it’s on in case someone from the office calls with an emergency.”

“Give me that,” Neal said firmly as he snatched the phone from Peter’s hand before Peter could stop him, adding over the other man’s protests, “You can have it back at the end of the night. Are you really that desperate not to go to this party?”

Peter said nothing, but purposefully diverted his gaze from Neal’s, exhibiting an intense, unprecedented interest in his shoes.

“God, you really are nervous, aren’t you?” Neal asked, realization dawning on him.

“Of course not,” Peter, letting out an unconvincing laugh. “I get guns pointed at me on a daily basis, Neal, why on earth would I be scared of making small talk with a bunch of entitled lawyers in tuxedos?”

“You know how to handle guns,” Neal observed, “But cocktail party conversation? Definitely outside your comfort zone.”

Peter crossed his arms defensively, and Neal pivoted so they were facing one another before saying, “Look, you’re going to be great, okay? It’s just a party.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter muttered, “I don’t think I’ve met a person yet you haven’t managed to charm in under five minutes.”

“Then it stands to reason that you’ll be just fine if you stick with me, then, doesn’t it?” Neal said rationally. It was at this moment that the elevator doors opened with a subdued ding, and Neal took the opportunity to slip his arm through Peter’s and half lead, half drag him toward Harvey’s door.

“Cheer up - it can’t be as bad as you’re thinking it will be,” Neal said reassuringly, rapping twice on the door.

After a few seconds, it was opened by the host himself, his face wreathed in a devilish smile. “Hello boys,” he said wickedly, “Welcome to the inferno.”

Neal instinctively tightened his grip on Peter’s arm enough to foil what he foresaw as an inevitable escape attempt, and, with a pointed look at his partner, tugged him inside.


	7. I Won't Say I'm in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is officially set in motion at the party, as Donna tells gives Neal a pep talk, and Jones forces Peter to see his relationship with Neal in a whole new light.

By the time that Peter was allowing himself to be dragged through the doorway, the party appeared to be distinctly in full swing. Everywhere he looked, there were well-dressed people engaged in a variety of activities that ranged in provocativeness from mildly sexual to downright debauched.

"Abandon all hope we who enter here?” Neal asked with a wry smile from beside him, responding to Harvey’s previous comment.

“Oh, I hope not,” Mike said with a laugh, swooping out from behind Harvey. “Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best thing.”

“Did you just compare this party to the prison from _Shawshank Redemption_?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Judging by the look on your face, I’d say you find that accurate,” Harvey said dryly, taking a sip of his scotch.

“Ah, but prisons do not have alcohol,” Neal interjected, grabbing an imported beer from a nearby table and handing it to Peter, “Believe me.”

“And here was me thinking you’d charmed the warden into giving you your own personal wine cellar,” Peter retorted.

“Only a few bottles here and there, for special occasions,” Neal protested, with a twinkle in his eye. “Hardly a cellar.”

“Well, in that case, you will undoubtedly want to take a look at my private collection,” Harvey said with an altogether different sort of glint in his eye, “and I think I know just the tour guide.”

In a moment Harvey had slipped away, discreetly taking Mike with him, and their vacated places were filled in an astonishingly swift manner by Donna and her escort. “Did I hear Harvey mention his private collection? It is quite impressive.”

“Be careful about letting Neal near a private collection of any kind, Donna,” Peter said with a little smile. “Objects of value have this uncanny tendency to go missing around him.”

Peter had only a few seconds to treasure the look of impressed surprise on Neal’s face upon discovering that Peter was already acquainted with the beautiful redhead before his gaze shifted automatically to her companion and his own jaw dropped open.

“Jones?” he asked, flabbergasted. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“He’s with me,” Donna said brightly, slipping her arm through Jones’. “He came by the office to do some follow-up for the Williams case, and we hit it off.”

“Funny,” Peter said, sending a knowing, amused gaze at Jones, “I don’t remember requiring any follow-up on that particular case.”

“Oh, well, um, a few inconsistencies came up on appeal,” Jones interjected quickly, looking just a touch embarrassed, “I didn’t want to bother you with something so minor, so I just took care of it myself.”

“How very courteous of you, Jones,” Neal said to him, though his gaze and smile remained on Donna, “Always the perfect gentleman. Ah, but I’m afraid I am in the unusual position of being the only man here not acquainted with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Clinton said you were smooth,” Donna said appreciatively, offering Neal her hand, which he took in both of his, “and I must commend you on your thorough commitment to your craft. And may I add that, in other facets, he did not do you justice in the least.”

Neal’s response of grinning and raising Donna’s hand gallantly to his lips elicited a groan and an eyeroll from Peter, which in turn earned Peter a cool stare from his partner and an amused chuckle from Jones.

“I believe we were speaking about a wine collection?” Neal continued, his gaze having returned once more to Donna.

“So we were,” Donna agreed, before turning slightly to Jones and asking sweetly, “You don’t mind if I slip off to show Neal Harvey’s private hoard of vintages, do you, Clinton, dear?”

“Of course not, darling,” Jones said with a smile that only brightened as he caught the ever-so brief flash of surprise visible on Donna’s face as he leaned over to give her a brief peck on the lips. “I’m sure Neal will be a perfect gentleman. Do hurry back, though.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Donna murmured with an inscrutable smile as she slipped her arm through Neal’s and led him toward Harvey’s spacious kitchen.

“I hope I wasn’t making your partner unduly jealous,” she remarked to Neal as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. “He seems rather possessive of you.”

“He’s just worried I’ll be tempted to steal something to impress you,” Neal replied with a small smile. After a couple beats, a slight shadow passed over his features, and he turned toward Donna to inquire, “I’m sorry, do you think Peter is my romantic partner?”

“He’s not?” she asked incredulously. “I’m so sorry, between the body language and the rapport I just assumed that you two were together.”

“Nope,” Neal said quickly, with a light laugh just a touch too put-on, “Just colleagues. Co-workers. Nothing more."

"You have got it bad," Donna said with a shake of the head and a sympathetic smile.

Neal's head whipped around in surprise. Upon seeing the patiently all-knowing look on Donna's face, he sighed and asked, "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to the trained eye," she assured him with a comforting pat on the arm. "The man in question seems to be almost entirely in the dark."

Neal shot a surreptitious look toward Peter, who appeared to be deep in conversation with Jones, and sighed again. "I don't know why I keep doing this to myself, keep hoping. It's obvious he doesn't want me."

"He doesn't know what he wants, Neal," Donna said, running her hand up to his shoulder. "Take it from me - those with the best insight into others tend to leave none for themselves." She inclined her head to where Harvey was standing at the bar, clearly trying to avoid staring at Mike making a minor spectacle of himself with a very enthusiastic Diana.

Neal cocked his head inquiringly and Donna continued, “For ten years I watched him skip from woman to woman to the occasional man, never staying with anyone more than a few weeks, most for only a night. I’d honestly given up hope that anyone would ever pique his interest long enough that he’d let his guard down. And then...then came Mike.”

Neal couldn’t help but smile as he took in Mike’s dorky, 80s-inspired dance moves and Harvey’s mostly ineffective attempts not to laugh. “I must admit, I certainly wouldn’t have picked Mike as the David to topple Goliath.”

“But that was David’s secret weapon, I suppose,” Donna mused. “Nobody saw him coming - God knows I didn’t. When that scrawny kid walked into the office that first day, all nervous excitement and bad tailoring, I thought to myself, ‘What the hell was Harvey thinking? He won’t last a day.’ ”

“But he did last,” Neal pointed out.

“Yes,” Donna said with a little laugh, “That he did. One week later, he'd won me over with lop-sided smiles, surprisingly fierce determination, and frappuccinos with extra whipped cream. Three weeks later he'd achieved the impossible: Harvey was actually falling for him, and falling hard. Mind you, Harvey being Harvey, it took him another three weeks to realize they'd been together in the first place."

"Clearly I should ask him for some pointers," Neal said ruefully, grabbing a glass of champagne from a nearby tray and taking a long sip. "Considering he accomplished in three weeks what I haven't managed in three years."

"My point being," Donna continued firmly, "that if Mike hadn't pushed the issue, Harvey could have gone on for years with no clue how he really felt."

"Are you saying you want me to tell Peter that I'm in love with him?" Neal asked doubtfully.

“Right now,” Donna said, taking the glass from his hand and putting it on a nearby table, “I’m saying that I want you to stop looking so miserable and come dance with me. It’s guaranteed to lift your spirits and your profile.”

Neal laughed and allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor. “I hope Harvey knows what a goddess he has in his employ,” he remarked, wrapping a hand around her waist.

“He does,” Diana replied with a cheeky grin, “And on the rare occasions that his memory lapses, I am always on hand to remind him.”

She leaned in closer as they began to dance and murmured, “Don’t lose hope just yet, Neal. Some low-flying Cupid may yet take pity on you.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Across the room, Jones and Peter continued their conversation, which had barely strayed from the subject of Neal for the past fifteen minutes.

“You are seriously telling me you aren’t worried about leaving Neal alone with your girlfriend?” Peter was asking skeptically.

Jones shrugged nonchalantly. “I trust her, Peter. More than that, I trust Neal. Are you really telling me that you think he’s the kind of guy who would steal a friend’s girl?”

“Well, no,” Peter admitted, “I suppose not. It’s just that he’s so...” _Gorgeous, charming, perfect,_ his subconscious supplied unhelpfully, “...slick. I wouldn’t blame Donna for getting taken in.”

Now it was Jones who looked skeptical. “You’ve met Donna, right?”

“Okay, fair point,” Peter ceded after a moment’s reflection. He had every intention of changing the subject before Donna and Neal’s shift to the dance floor drove all other thoughts from his mind.

“You cannot tell me _that_ doesn’t make you a little jealous,” Peter exclaimed, gesturing to where Neal and Donna were swaying back and forth and laughing. “They’re practically having sex!”

Jones had to suppress a chuckle before remarking, “If I didn’t know better, Peter, I’d say you were the one who was jealous.”

“That, well, that...is completely ridiculous,” Peter muttered, his attempt at a laugh coming out strangely strangled, “I mean me, jealous of Neal? It’s just...ludicrous, insane, preposterous!”

Upon observing that the amused, skeptical look on Jones’ face had not shifted, Peter barreled on, “I am just trying to save you from unnecessary heartbreak, my friend - it has nothing whatsoever to do with Neal.”

It was at this moment that Donna chose to glance over at them, throwing Jones a wink and a kiss, causing him to smile and raise his glass to her in lieu of reply.

“Oh, fine, I give up,” Peter grumbled, taking another sip of his beer.

“Come on, is the idea of you and Neal together really so absurd?” Jones asked after a minute. “I mean, you spend nearly all of your time together.”

“That is for the Bureau and the greater good,” Peter insisted. “Who knows what kind of trouble he would get into if I weren’t there to keep an eye on him?”

"So, the movie nights, little road trips, dinner dates, you just suffer through those for the Bureau, huh?"

"I never said he wasn't good company," Peter hedged, "But just as friends! We're co-workers and friends, nothing more to it than that."

"So you're not attracted to him, then?" Jones inquired casually.

Peter fully intended to concur, until he realized dismally that with the sight of Neal in full evening dress in plain view just across the room, that particular lie was too unbelievable to even attempt. He settled instead for exclaiming, "That's hardly relevant! I mean, look at him, that boy could pull at a lesbian bar!"

"Uh-huh," Jones said, nodding thoughtfully, "So, let me get this straight - you enjoy spending copious amounts of time with him and think he’s attractive enough to convert lesbians...and you still think the idea of you two dating is ridiculous?”

Peter felt his face grow flushed as he sputtered, “That’s not...I mean, I didn’t...I wasn’t...” before lapsing helplessly into silence. Finally, he threw up his hands in frustration and declared, “That’s it, I need a stronger drink!” and headed off in search of Harvey’s private scotch collection.

Seconds after Peter’s departure, Jones raised his hand to his ear and said quietly, “Phase Two complete - Harvey, Newman will be in position in a couple minutes. Commencing Phase Three in T minus thirty seconds.”

This declaration sparked several waves of activity which, though they surely seemed completely random to the other guests, were without a doubt expertly coordinated.

The second the song ended, Diana and Mike parted ways, him to join Harvey at the bar, her to insist on stealing Neal for the next dance. Donna surrendered her partner without a fight and went to join Jones at the edge of the room.

The two of them occupied themselves watching the crowd of lawyers gyrating against one another across the dance floor and, in the case of a few members of the bankruptcy department, on top of the bar.

“Are Pearson Hardman events always like this?” Jones asked incredulously.

“Oh, no,” Donna deadpanned, “Sometimes things get really wild.”

Jones grinned. “This is tame, huh?”

“Considering one of the partners arrived at the last Christmas party on a zebra stolen from the Bronx Zoo, I would say yes,” Donna responded, her grin matching his.

Suddenly, a glint appeared in her eyes as she remarked casually, “You know, just because our part of con is over doesn’t mean we should drop our cover.”

“Well, no, of course not,” Jones agreed, suddenly looking very interested indeed in the turn the conversation was taking. “We wouldn’t want to be the ones to give the game away. Tell me, what sort of....cover maintenance did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Donna said thoughtfully, “If our cover was real, and you had come to this part as my date...” she trailed off tantalizingly, causing Jones to lean in closer, “...by this point in the evening, I’d probably be suggesting we steal a bottle of vodka, sneak into Harvey’s office with the key he doesn’t know I still have, and...”

“And?” Jones asked, willing his voice to sound only casually interested. Whatever Donna then chose to whisper in his ear was enough to make him shoot off in the direction of the liquor cabinet, while she nonchalantly made her way toward the back of the apartment.

“Donna and Jones certainly seem very dedicated to playing their parts this evening,” Harvey remarked to Mike at the bar, his tone amused.

“You know Donna,” Mike replied with a grin, “Always willing to go above and beyond.” When he spoke again, however, his expression had grown serious. “I’m still not sure this next part is a good idea, Harvey.”

“That is because you, Mike Ross, are sometimes too nice for your own good,” Harvey retorted, finishing off his scotch. “Trust me, it’s basic Newtonian physics. I am simply going to provoke an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Fine, but you’re bandaging your own nose if his fist decides to provoke an equal and opposite reaction from your face,” Mike shot back.

“Fair enough,” Harvey said, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of combat as he pushed off from the bar to go find Peter and kick off Phase Three.


	8. Punch-Drunk Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up as Peter throws a punch at Harvey, Neal tells Diana she shouldn't try to con a con man, and Mozzie's lack of aptitude at disguise leads Peter to come to some pretty surprising revelations.

Peter had already downed half a glass of Glenlivet by the time Harvey strolled languidly into the room.  "Breaking out the good stuff - my little soiree not what you expected?" 

"You could say that," Peter replied with a hollow laugh, "although I should have known that attending a party of yours couldn't lead to anything less than total insanity."

"I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” Harvey said decidedly. "What happened, Louis try to hit on you again?  He always gets more handsy when he’s drunk."

After pausing for a moment to shudder at the seemingly impossible thought of an even more handsy Louis, Peter explained, "Everyone at this party seems to be under this absurd impression that Neal and I are dating.  Jones even had the nerve to imply that I actually had feelings for him.  I mean, really, how ridiculous is that?"

"Completely," Harvey concurred, chuckling to himself as he took the bottle of Glenlivet from Peter and poured himself a drink.  "How could Jones possibly think that you could ever fall for someone like Neal?  It’s preposterous."

"Exactly!" Peter shouted, relieved that someone finally saw things his way.  When Harvey's words had sunk in a little more, however, he suddenly found himself adding, "Just out of curiosity, what do you mean by 'someone like Neal'?" 

"Don't get me wrong, the guy's gorgeous," Harvey elaborated, "Ice blue eyes, killer smile, and I'd swear you could cut glass with those cheekbones.  Hell, if you hadn't shot such daggers at me when I met him in your office, I would've been very tempted indeed to invite him on a personal tour of my...private collection."

Peter did his best to ignore the way imagining Harvey and Neal together caused his stomach to tie itself into tiny knots and continued, "Then what -"

"But, like you said, he’s completely unsuitable for anything more permanent than a night or two of fun, meaningless sex,” Harvey concluded, talking over Peter’s small interruption.  

“I don’t think that I said that,” Peter remarked doubtfully.

“Implied it, then,” Harvey corrected, waving him off impatiently.  “Either way, you were quite right.   For starters, the two of you would have nothing in common except work.  What would you even do on a date?”

Peter was surprised at the number of possible suggestions - including watching _The Sting_ for the fiftieth time - that popped into his head before Harvey continued taking the conversation in a direction Peter found surprisingly irritating.   

“And even if you somehow managed to figure out the basic logistics, it couldn’t last.  I mean, Neal lies to people for a living - hardly ideal boyfriend material.  You’d never be able to give him the kind of trust that, at least according to Mike, every relationship needs.

“Now hold on a second, Harvey,” Peter said, his temper really beginning to flare, “Neal and I may have a few trust issues here and there, but I have complete faith in him when it comes to the important things.”

“No need to get upset, Peter,” Harvey replied in a placating tone which Peter found distinctly insufferable, “I’m simply agreeing with you about Neal.  I see guys like him all the time in my line of work -  hardened scam artists who use their good looks and charm to persuade gullible victims into believing they care about them; once they’ve gotten what they want, they’re off to the next mark.  Smart of you to realize that, even if your colleagues have been taken in.”

Even with reflexes honed from many, many games of corporate racquetball, Harvey only just managed to lunge left to avoid the fist that came flying at his face and instead ended up impacting the collection of first editions behind him.  

“Jesus, Peter!” Harvey exclaimed, retreating behind the desk in case Peter ventured a second attempt at disfigurement, “That’s a hell of a way to treat John Steinbeck, not to mention one of your best friends.  What gives?”

“That ‘hardened scam artist’ in there is turning out to be one hell of a better friend than you are, apparently, that’s ‘what gives’!” Peter shouted, the anger-fueled adrenaline coursing through his body dulling the pain in his hand to a dull throbbing.  “I’ll have you know Neal Caffrey is loyal, and honorable, and kind, not to mention his having saved my life half a dozen times with absolutely no regard for his own personal safety.”

Peter took a few swift steps forward until his face was inches from Harvey’s and whispered darkly, “I put up with a lot from you, Harvey, and you can continue to mock my suits, or my taste in food, or my paycheck all you want.  But if you ever again talk about Neal like he’s some opportunistic dirtbag, or worse, one of those blonde bimbos you used to pick up at bars by telling them you were an astronaut, a punch to the nose is the very least you can expect from me.”  

He slammed the glass of scotch down on Harvey’s desk and stormed out before Harvey could reply, leaving the lawyer smiling to himself as he quietly downed the rest of the discarded drink.  

Finally, he raised his hand to his ear and remarked quietly, “Newman is on the move, repeat, Newman is on the move.  Nice call on the punching, Mike, bandaging was nearly necessary.  And Donna, if you’re still listening, please try not to drink all my vodka.”  

\-------------------------

With no clue that his honor was being so staunchly defended in the next room, Neal was occupying himself with keeping Diana from tumbling face-first onto the dance floor while she chattered happily to him.

"Hughes was just saying to me the other day," she was explaining as she swayed back and forth, "'Agent Berrigan,' he said," - at this point she lowered her voice by a couple octaves - "Burke and Caffrey are my A-team.  I've never seen an agent and C.I. work together in such perfect tandem."

"You don't say," Neal replied, still attempting to follow the haphazard pace of Diana’s swaying.

"I do say," Diana insisted, nodding so intently that she stumbled to one side and nearly fell over, causing her to giggle uncontrollably.  

As Neal reached out to grab her waist and keep her upright, he began to laugh as well while he asked, "You know what's funny?"

"What?" Diana asked, trying unsuccessfully to stop giggling.

"You're not drunk," Neal said - though he was still laughing, his eyes were hard and flashing.

"What?" Diana asked with a high, nervous laugh.

“I thought it was strange you managed to get that drunk in the time it took the limo to get from your apartment to mine, so I took the liberty of observing you,” Neal explained matter-of-factly.  “Pretending to be so intoxicated that you kept spilling your champagne was a convenient way to avoid consuming it.  The truth of the matter is, you haven't actually had a sip of anything alcoholic all night; consequently, even if you were drunk in the limo, which I highly doubt, you certainly wouldn't still be."

"Neal, I-" Diana began, trying desperately to think of an even remotely plausible lie.

"And speaking of deception," Neal went on, his expression now matching his tone in its severity, "Despite the fact that they are currently doing God knows what in Harvey's office, Jones and Donna have not been dating for the past three months.  I’ve worked with Jones for two years, Diana, and, consequently, I know that whenever there’s a woman in his life, he drinks two cups of coffee in the morning instead of four and sings when he thinks no one’s looking; if he’d been dating Donna this whole time, I definitely would have been subjected to more than one rendition of “My Life” by now.  Tell me, did you honestly think that I wouldn’t be able to tell you were running a game on me?”  

"Of course not," Mike said easily, coming up from behind him.  “And, strictly speaking, we were running a game on Peter; you were merely an integral part of it.  A small distinction, perhaps, but a signficant one, I’m sure you’ll agree.”  

"And what's to stop me from walking out right now and wrecking all your plans, hmmm?" Neal asked, his voice tight.  

"Curiosity," Mike replied calmly.  “What kind of con man could resist seeing a plan of this scale come to fruition?” 

Neal turned and began to head for the door, so Mike added, “Hope - the faintest hope that maybe, just maybe this whole thing will actually go your way.” 

Neal stopped in his tracks and pivoted slowly to face Mike; the look on his face convinced Mike his arrow had hit its mark.  "Come on, why don’t you let me show you the balcony?" Mike cajoled, threading an arm through Neal's.  "The view is magical - I'm told it can change a man's whole perspective on things."

\-------------------------

Though he had intended to grab Neal and head straight for the door, Peter made it only as far as the small hallway beside the kitchen before a strangely familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"I am-a telling you, Miss-a Pearson, these are-a the best a-meatballs you've ever tasted," a waiter with an impossibly thick Italian accent and the largest, blackest moustache Peter had ever seen was telling an extremely skeptical-looking Jessica.

"I'm, um, fine right now, thank you..." Jessica stopped, presumably searching his uniform for a name.

"Luigi," the waiter responded, with a theatrical, little bow.  "Luigi Minestrone."

The reason behind the man’s familiarity to Peter struck him suddenly and without warning.  “Mozzie?” he exclaimed incredulously.

Fear flashed in the other man’s eyes, but he quickly played it off.  “No, no, no, the good signore is mistaken.  I am Luigi Minestrone, my family has lived in Roma for centuries, we settled on the Gianicolo in seventeen hundred and -”

Peter rolled his eyes and interrupted what he was sure would have otherwise been an incredibly detailed monologue by ripping the moustache from the other man’s upper lip with one swift flick of his wrist.

The man paled, seized the moustache from Peter’s grip, and mumbled “I must a-check on the soup,” before dashing into the kitchen.

“I know it’s you, Mozzie!” Peter shouted, running after him past a very confused Jessica, who was making a mental note to ask Harvey just what kind of caterers he was in the habit of hiring.  

“All right, first Diana wants to come, then it turns out Jones is already here, now you!” Peter yelled as he stormed into the kitchen.  “You are going to tell me right now - what the hell is going on?”

After a few seconds of uneasy contemplation, Mozzie decided from the furious look on Peter’s face that lying would only make matters worse.  “It was for you,” he said quietly, taking off his waiter’s apron and placing it on the counter.  “You and Neal - we did it for you.”  

Peter took a moment to look back on the events of the night and felt his stomach sink as he realized just how often the conversation had turned to the subject of Neal.  His hands were shaking by the time he demanded, “Did he ask you -?”  
  
“Of course not,” Mozzie snapped, “ _He_     
is content to suffer in silence.”

“What do you mean suffer?” Peter tried to scoff, “Neal hardly seems like he’s suffering to me.”  

“If that’s really what you see, well then, as usual, you’re not really looking,” Mozzie shot back, the serpentine turn of his words belied by the rare sharpness of his tone.  

“Now, wait just a second, Mozzie,” Peter began, ready to launch into a compelling defense.  

“No, you wait just a second, Suit!” Mozzie shouted, eschewing his normal veneer of zen-like calm for an aura of accusation and anger which rendered Peter too taken-aback to interrupt.  “I’ve known Neal for a long time, and I know what he looks like when his romantic nature is making him miserable.  But you, you’re too wrapped up in your own little world to notice, and that is killing him.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again when he realized he had no idea what to say.

“Has it truly not occurred to you that a con man of Neal’s calibre could have escaped a dozen times by now?” Mozzie demanded.

“He knows I’d catch him,” Peter objected, although this reason - the one Peter had always given himself whenever this very question came up - suddenly seemed flimsy and unsatisfactory.

“And you know he’d let you,” Mozzie shot back.  “You know, he’s been beating himself up all this time for not being good enough for you, but if you’re not even smart enough to see what’s right in front of you, then you are definitely not good enough for him.” 

Mozzie marched toward the door, but not before whirling on Peter and pronouncing, “Just remember, Peter, ‘Love is the only thing in this life truly worth fighting for.’ ” With that final piece of wisdom, he was gone, leaving only a thunderstruck Peter in his wake.  

Peter slumped against Harvey’s refrigerator and slid slowly down until he was sitting on Harvey’s floor with his back against the cool aluminum.  A mental slide-show of a thousand little moments with Neal began to play unbidden in his head, and it quickly seemed to Peter a conclusive reminder of his own complete and utter stupidity.  

He thought about the million-dollar ring that Neal had given to Keller to secure his safe return; the way Neal had told him that of all the people in his life, Peter was the only one he could trust; the flash of hurt in his eyes when Peter had laughed off the idea that they would ever be together.  It was so obvious now, so blindingly obvious: Neal was in love with him.   

What was becoming increasingly apparent from the way this discovery made him feel, however, was quite possibly an even more momentous revelation: he was pretty sure he loved Neal right back.  


	9. Stop, Look, Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With everything finally out in the open, Mike and Harvey must convince Neal and Peter to take the final step and come clean. They also discover that the evening still has quite a few surprises in store for them.

"You know, I've half a mind to take another swing at you," Peter said, coming to stand next to Harvey. "Pulling a stunt like this."

Harvey turned to look at him, as if to gauge the seriousness of his remark. Finally, after taking a long sip of his scotch, he spoke: "I'll make a deal with you, Peter. If tomorrow you still want to punch me for going to an extraordinary amount of trouble to stop you from getting in the way of your own happiness, then fine, go ahead - I won't stop you."

"Don't try to turn this around, Harvey," Peter insisted, his expression earnest. "I don't like being manipulated."

"And I don't like manipulating you," Harvey countered, turning to face him head-on. "Interfering in other people's love lives? Not my style at all. Trust me, had it been my call, I would have been more than happy to let you and Neal continue doing your little dance of denial ad infinitum."

"But that kid out there," he gestured to where Mike was standing on the balcony talking to Neal, "couldn't bear the thought of you two missing your shot at happiness. As a result, instead of spending my Friday night with a tape of the game, half a pound of marinated prime rib, and an absurdly expensive bottle of scotch, I find myself having to juggle intoxicated co-workers, incompetent catering staffers, and your love life.”

"My goodness, Harvey,” Peter agreed with a smirk, “That doesn't sound like you at all. If I didn't know better, I’d say domestic bliss has finally gotten to you."

"We are not talking about me, Peter," Harvey said firmly, "We're talking about you. Specifically you, and Neal, and the fact that the only reason you aren't together already is because he's been too scared and you've been too..."

"Stupid?" Peter suggested dryly.

"I was going to say 'unobservant,' but if the shoe fits..." Harvey said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. "Now, down to business - are you going to go out there and tell him how you feel or do I need have to organize another one of these little get-togethers for next weekend?"

Peter shot a long look at in Neal's direction and was disappointed to find his expression as inscrutable as ever. "What if he doesn't want me, Harvey?" he asked, suddenly feeling panicky. "What if he tells me it's too late? Or worse, God, what if it ruins our relationship? I-I can't imagine what my life would be like without Neal in it."

"What do you want Peter, reward without risk?" Harvey asked incredulously. "You and I both know thats not how it works."

"I just want a little assurance," Peter began, but Harvey cut him off.

"Assurance?" he exclaimed, "You want assurance? Fine, here it is: you tell Neal how you feel, yeah, you might lose him. But if you don't tell him, if you chicken out now, then you will lose him, forever, and that is my personal guarantee."

Peter stared at Harvey in shock for a few seconds, then shifted his glance to Neal on the balcony, then finally back to Harvey. "I can see why everyone thinks you're such a hard ass," Peter said, grabbing Harvey's glass of scotch and drinking it down.

He then began to brush past Harvey in the direction of the balcony, but not before clapping him on the shoulder and saying quietly, "And I can see why Mike has so much faith that they're wrong."

Meanwhile, at the same time Harvey was trying to get Peter to talk, Mike was making sure Neal was open to listening.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mike asked, leaning forward over the railing of the balcony. "On a clear night, you can see all the way to Brooklyn. You know, I've been waking up here for weeks now, and it still takes my breath away."

"So what's the plan now, Mike?" Neal asked with a touch of bitterness. "Take me out here, use the pretty city lights to distract me from the fact that my friends have been moving me around like a piece on a chessboard?"

"All's fair in love and war," Mike pointed out, "And sometimes you can't have the one without a bit of the other."

"You read that on a fortune cookie?" Neal asked, but the bite in his voice was gone, replaced with simple weariness.

"Harvey and I do get a lot of Chinese takeaway," Mike said thoughtfully, "perhaps it has affected my vernacular."

Neal gave him a laugh before his expression grew serious once more. "I don't suppose you have one of those for lost causes."

"I don't believe any cause is lost, Neal," Mike said firmly, "And neither does Harvey - if he did, he certainly wouldn't have taken me on."

"I wish I had your faith in things," Neal murmured, staring stormily out over the city.

"Look, Neal," Mike began quietly, placing a light hand on the other man's forearm, "I get it, okay? I do. Life kicks your ass enough, the idea that someone would actually want to stick by you for the long haul starts to seem impossible. You spend all your time waiting for the other shoe to drop, for one more person you love to let you down, just so you can tell yourself ‘I told you so’ - because maybe if you see it coming, it won't hurt as much this time."

"You sound a man who speaks from experience," Neal said, looking at Mike curiously.

"More than I care to think about sometimes,” Mike said quietly. “But when Harvey gave me a chance, I decided it was about damn time I gave myself one, too.”

“You make it sound easy,” Neal observed with a sigh.

“Oh, it’s never easy, Neal,” Mike assured him, “But I like to think that’s the universe’s way of letting you know something's worth it.”

“And that guy over there who’s working up the nerve to talk to you?” Mike added, inclining his head in the direction of Peter, who was currently talking to Harvey and failing miserably at not watching them. “He’s definitely worth it. Do me the favor of giving him the chance to prove it to you.”

Neal couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Peter looking so absurdly nervous. “Thanks, Mike,” he said finally.. “You’re a good friend.”

“I do what I can,” Mike replied with a modest little smile. Upon seeing Peter heading tentatively in their direction, he murmured, “Looks like it’s showtime - that would be my cue to give you two some privacy.” He turned to slip past Peter back into the apartment, but not before clapping Neal on the shoulder and whispering, “Good luck!”

"Well?" Harvey asked eagerly, as Mike finished shutting the terrace door and joined him at the edge of the room. "How did it go?"

"Time will tell," Mike replied with an enigmatic smile. "And you?"

"Peter seems to have mostly reconsidered his desire to cause me intense physical pain," Harvey said reflectively. "I'm going to call that a win."

"I would," Mike agreed, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "And his feelings for Neal?"

"Acknowledged in full," Harvey affirmed with a proud grin, "Though whether he'll be able to express them in anything resembling words is a different story."

"I'm sure Neal will cut him the necessary slack," Mike said confidently.

"So, what now?" Harvey asked, his eyes drifting to the closed glass doors behind Mike.

"Now, we wait," Mike retorted, placing a firm hand on Harvey's chest and shoving him back.

And so Harvey and Mike did exactly that, dancing with a few of their plastered co-workers, pretending to laugh at the usual round of lawyer jokes, and generally proceeding as if they had far more important things on their minds than what was going on out on that balcony.

Finally, after forty-five minutes of sneaking occasional, hopeful glance toward the terrace doors, Harvey pulled Mike to the side and whispered fiercely, “It’s been nearly an hour, Mike, what the hell are they doing out there?”

Mike smirked, quipping, “Birds do it, bees do it..”

“Oh, shut up,” Harvey said, “If you’ll remember, the rest of that lyric runs ‘let’s fall in love.' "

"And I'm sure that's all they've been doing for the past forty-five minutes, 'falling in love'," Mike said sarcastically.

"That's it, I'm going out there," Harvey declared, striding forcefully toward the doors.

"Because the only person allowed to have hot balcony sex out there is you, goddamn it," Mike commented as he followed, the tone of mock gruffness he was affecting severely compromised by his attempts not to laugh.

"Damn straight," Harvey muttered approvingly, throwing open the doors. Though a decade in the law had trained him to resist revealing his true reaction to anything, Harvey could not suppress the look of complete and utter shock that appeared on his face as he exclaimed, “What the hell?”

“Now you see them...” Mike said with an amazed, little laugh, taking in the completely empty balcony with as much shock as Harvey.

As Harvey began to frantically scour the balcony, searching for any viable alternate exit route, Mike heard a familiar chime from inside his jacket. “You can call off the search party,” he called out with a grin as he skimmed the text message flashing on the screen of his cell, “Donna says she made sure they got home safely.”

“Donna,” Harvey said, shaking his head, “I should have known. I’m supposing Harriett Houdini didn’t tell you how she managed it, exactly?”

Mike arched an eyebrow. “Does she ever?”

Harvey heaved an exasperated sigh, pulled out his own phone and declared, “I guess I’ll have to go straight to the source.” His phone buzzed barely a minute after the text was sent, but the reply just made him let out a loud groan and mutter, “Oh, very helpful, Peter, very mature.”

“What does he say?” Mike asked eagerly, snatching the phone from Harvey’s hand. After he read the words on the screen, it took him a full twenty seconds to stop laughing and recite the contents of the text:, “I’m sorry, the owner of the number you are trying to reach is busy attending to some very personal business and is not available for contact. Please try again in a few days. This means you, Harvey.”

“Well, I guess we know they got home safely,” Mike observed with a cheeky grin. Upon seeing the brooding expression remaining on Harvey’s face, he exclaimed, “Are you seriously sulking because you didn’t get to gloat?”

“Getting to lord it over Peter was the whole point of me doing this ridiculous matchmaking plan in the first place!” Harvey insisted, looking petulant.

“And here was me thinking it was because you couldn’t say no to me,” Mike said, still grinning mischievously at Harvey.

“Not couldn’t,” Harvey corrected, “Didn’t. A mistake I will not be repeating, I assure you.”

“You can’t fool me, Harvey,” Mike said, crossing his arms knowingly. “Underneath that insouciant exterior, you couldn’t be more thrilled that Peter is happy, and that you got to be a part of it.”

“I will admit that pleases me a touch,” Harvey said with a reluctant smile, “but I'm still irked that Donna still got the last laugh.”

“Now that I can fix,” Mike said, shooting Harvey a sly grin before whipping out his phone and pressing a few buttons.

Harvey was just about to ask how the hell he intended on doing that using only his phone when a loud alarm began to sound from inside, followed by a round of screams. “Mike, what the hell -?” Harvey exclaimed, concerned, as he rushed toward the doors.

When he flung them open, however, he was relieved to see nothing more drastic occurring than a crowd of screaming, wet lawyers making their way to his front door while water rained down upon them from the apartment’s emergency sprinklers. Among them, he could make out Diana and Christie, laughing as they threw jackets over their heads, a very drunk Louis attempting to use one of the associates as a raincoat, and a mysterious man with a large, black moustache shouting, "My meatballs are-a ruined!". And lastly, Harvey was most amused to observe that toward the end of the crowd, clutching a pair of black pumps in one hand and the sleeve of an equally soaked Jones in the other, was Donna.

As she was simultaneously rushing for the door and attempting to keep the sleeve of her obviously hastily donned dress from falling over her shoulder, Donna caught sight of him watching her and sent him a look which, coming from a not drenched version of her, would have been very threatening indeed.

As it was, Harvey felt confident giving her his best “This round is mine” smirk, accompanied by a small salute. Donna narrowed her eyes at him, but, as Jones chose this moment to lean up and whisper something in her ear which instantly brightened her expression, apparently decided against any immediate vengeance in favor of tugging Jones out of the apartment, down the hallway, and out of sight.

“Okay, I have to ask,” Harvey said, turning away from the chaos to face Mike on the balcony, “how on earth did you manage that?”

“Mozzie’s friend,” Mike explained with a little shrug and pleased smile, “The one who hooked us up with these earpieces? I got him to hook me into your electrical system - thought it might come in handy.”

“Well, well,” Harvey said, walking slowly in Mike’s direction, “An excellent show of initiative, Mike Ross. I just wish there was some way I could reward you.”

“Oh, really?” Mike asked, entwining his arms around Harvey’s neck, “I suppose, as my boss, you could...give me a raise.”

“Oh God, how long have you been waiting to use that one?” Harvey asked with a little groan, resting his hands companionably on Mike’s hips.

“A couple days,” Mike admitted, before adding, “All right, if not a raise, what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Harvey said reflectively, his smile taking on a decidedly impish tinge, “I seem to remember you saying something earlier about...hot balcony sex?”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Mike said, as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

“And if Peter and Neal aren’t going to take advantage of this tremendous view...” Harvey began.

“...then it would be a travesty if we didn’t,” Mike finished for him, now grinning from ear to ear. “Why do you think I made sure to send everybody away?”

“You know, on second thought, I change my mind,” Harvey said, swiftly whirling Mike around so he was pressed against the terrace door before whispering, “You are definitely getting a raise.”

Mike’s eyes glinted at the implied challenge, and he pounced on Harvey, tugging him down into a demanding kiss that didn’t let up until there occurred a mutual, unspoken decision between them that they did, unfortunately, need to breathe.

Harvey took this opportunity to shift his attention to the side of Mike’s neck, prompting Mike to observe, “You know, as much good as this party did, there was one unfortunate casualty.”

“Mmm, what was that, then?” Harvey murmured distractedly, shifting to the other side of Mike’s neck.

“Your reputation,” Mike said with a sigh, unable to contain his laugh at the dismayed look which appeared on Harvey’s face as his head snapped upright. “That’s right, Harvey, I’m afraid the jig is officially up - you care.”

“I do not,” Harvey insisted, though his objection sounded more half-hearted than usual.

Mike raised a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from Harvey’s forehead, allowing his fingers to linger on his cheek as he said fondly, “It’s no use denying it, Harvey - I know all your tells.”

“Oh you do, huh?” Harvey asked good-naturedly. “Okay, what does this tell you?” He lowered his lips to Mike’s in a leisurely kiss, sweeter and less frenzied than the one of moments before.

When Mike finally pulled back, he paused for a moment before saying quietly, “That you care. That you care about me.”

Harvey ran a hand through Mike’s hair and admitted, “Well, maybe just a little,” before pressing his lips to Mike’s once more.


	10. A Boy Standing in Front of a Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly did happen between Peter and Neal on that balcony?

One hour earlier.

The second Mike had departed from the balcony, leaving nothing between him and Neal, Peter was filled with an all-consuming sense of panic. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to turn around and run, to push his feelings for Neal back into that same dark corner where he had been storing them for months and try like hell to keep them there.

But Harvey's words, echoing in his head, kept his feet firmly in place: If you don't tell him now...you will lose him forever. Firm in the knowledge that losing Neal was quite simply not an option, he took a deep breath and a few steps forward.

“Hell of a party, huh?” Peter said, in a tone he prayed sounded casual, leaning on the railing next to Neal.

“Clearly the social event of the season," Neal agreed, shooting Peter a brief smile before returning his gaze once more to the darkened skyline. "I think at one point I saw Diana grinding with a former Supreme Court justice."

Peter let out a nervous laugh that ended up lasting a good ten seconds longer than he'd intended it to, lapsing into silence only when Neal shot him a quizzical look, containing an undercurrent of what Peter hoped was amusement.

As the seconds wore on, Peter would have sworn he could hear the empty space where him saying something should have gone; he reached up to tug on with the knot of the purple silk tie Neal had lent him, idly wondering what errant deity had chosen to replace the habitual chill of an October night with this oppressive warmth.

"You feeling all right, Peter?" Neal asked, turning to focus his full attention on him. "You look a little rough around the edges."

"Oh, I'm fine," Peter said quickly, waving Neal off, "It's...it’s nothing, I’m fine."

"I’d feel better if you weren’t standing so close to the edge," Neal said, cupping Peter's elbow and gently tugging him away from the railing. "Just in case."

The comforting feel of Neal's hand on his arm and the concern evident in his eyes untied a few of the knots in Peter's stomach and gave him the courage to blurt out, “Neal, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Neal assented, not moving his hand from Peter’s sleeve.

"You..or rather you and I...er, we, that is - we're friends, right?"

"Yes, Peter," Neal said patiently, "I think we can agree on that with a relative degree of certainty."

"Yes, good," Peter said quickly, aware that he had begun to babble, but in too deep to stop, "and it is...er, good that is. But lately, I don't know, things have changed. And suddenly good just...isn't good enough."

Peter nervously cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the terrace floor, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get through the next part otherwise. "And, I guess what I'm saying is that, well, Neal, when the rest of your life wants to spend you with someone, then...no, that's um, that's not right, is it? W-what I meant was that I'm just a boy standing in front of...a-a boy and asking...that is, asking him-"

Peter was saved from having to finish by Neal swiftly pressing his lips to his. Peter instinctively froze in place, unsure of what to do, at which point he realized in a blinding flash that in his haste to tell Neal how he felt, he had completely forgotten to consider what would happen next.

As one of Neal's hands tangled itself in his hair and the other slid up from his elbow to the side of his neck, however, Peter was surprised to find his fight-or-flight response from earlier conspicuously absent. If anything, this new, unexpected proximity was so insufficient compared to his sudden, intense need to have Neal much, much closer that his hands shot out, seemingly of their own volition, to wrap themselves around Neal's waist and draw him in so their bodies were pressed tightly together.

It was at this point that their natural tendency to work in perfect tandem took over, and suddenly all the fear and uncertainty swirling around in Peter's mind just...stopped. For the remaining moments of the kiss - whether a few seconds, minutes or hours Peter could not have hoped to guess - there was Neal and only Neal.

When they finally broke apart, Peter’s head was spinning, though whether from the intensity of the moment or the oxygen deprivation he wasn't entirely sure. Consequently, any follow-up comments he might have been planning were limited to a weak exclamation of “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed,” Neal agreed, also trying to recover his breath. “God, I should have done that months ago.”

“Maybe you would have if I hadn’t been such an oblivious idiot,” Peter pointed out, feeling guilty all over again. “I’m sorry, Neal. I’ve been so stupid.”

Neal gave him a warm smile that made Peter’s stomach do little flip-flops. “Don’t be sorry,” he said quietly, leaning forward to give Peter a lingering kiss before adding, “You’re here now - that’s all that matters. Even if you did steal your big romantic speech from a Hugh Grant film.”

“I thought I’d heard it somewhere before...” Peter muttered, cursing under his breath.

Neal grinned. “Don’t worry - your utter hopelessness in the flirting arena is one of the things that I love about you.” He reached down to grab Peter's hand, prompting the other man to flinch instinctively and let out a small hiss.

"What happened to your knuckles?" Neal asked, looking concerned as he gingerly examined Peter's outstretched hand.

"I attacked a bookcase," Peter admitted a bit sheepishly, wincing a little as Neal pressed a cold glass of champagne against his fingers to reduce the swelling.

"Were you incensed by any particular volume, or just feeling resentful toward literature in general?

"If you must know, I was defending your honor," Peter replied with a sniff.

"Against a bookcase?" Neal inquired, looking very amused.

"It’s a long story," Peter said with a sigh, "which I promise I will tell you later."

"I'm going to hold you to that," Neal said with a smile, returning the champagne to its place on the railing. "That any better?"

"Much," Peter said gratefully, testing out the flexibility of his fingers. "My hand thanks you."

"Well, perhaps your hand can make it up to me later," Neal said mischievously, causing Peter's cheeks to heat up in a way he hoped desperately wasn't visible. It was this idle thought that led him to a disturbing realization.

"Oh God," he said suddenly, whipping his head round toward the terrace door, "I just realized - we have to go back in there to leave. I don’t know if I can handle the combined smugness of Harvey, Diana, and Jones. Too much to hope you’re wearing a harness under that vest, I suppose?"

Neal laughed before replying wistfully, "If only I’d worn the other jacket..." He strolled toward the railing, continuing, "I mean, maybe I could rig something up -"

Upon reaching the edge, however, he stopped mid-sentence, and to Peter’s surprise began to stare, transfixed, at something just below them.

"I was kidding," Peter said quickly, not liking the thoughtful expression on Neal's face one bit, "Neal, I was kidding. Don't even think about -"

"Look!" Neal insisted, cutting him off mid-stream, "Come look!"

Now intensely curious, Peter took a few steps forward to stand beside Neal at the railing and, as soon as he had followed his partner’s gaze downward, was completely taken aback by what he saw. "But that’s..."

"A window-cleaner’s scaffold!” Neal finished excitedly. “Come on, help me pull it up!”

"Why not?" Peter asked, throwing up his hands and reaching down to help Neal raise the apparatus, "It will be perfectly in keeping with the utter bizarreness of our stay in Specterland."

As they pulled the scaffold higher, however, Peter realized things were getting stranger than they had first appeared. "Is that..a bottle of champagne?"

"Hello, boys," Neal read aloud from the card affixed to the bottle, “Thought an alternate exit route might be in order. Enjoy the bubbly! XOXO, Donna.”

"She can't be serious," Peter said, shaking his head in astonishment. One look at the mile-wide grin on Neal's face had him adding, "You can't be serious."

"Come on, Peter, live a little!" Neal shouted, nimbly vaulting over the railing.

"Would you get down from there?" Peter demanded, looking around with concern. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"If you're so worried," Neal teased, "Then I guess you'd better come and get me."

Peter rolled his eyes, resigned himself once again to complete insanity, and carefully maneuvered his way onto the scaffold.

"If we die..." Peter began threateningly.

"Ooh, let me guess," Neal quipped, playfully tracing a hand over Peter's chest "You'll take it out on me?"

"Worse," Peter whispered conspiratorially, "I'll take it out on your tie." As if to prove his point, he wrapped a hand around the accessory in question and used it to tug Neal toward him for a kiss.

Neal, meanwhile, took the opportunity to reach his hand back for the lever and set the scaffold into abrupt motion, causing Peter to instinctively clutch at him for the ten seconds it took him to realize they were not actually plummeting to their doom. "Oops," Neal said casually, giving Peter a small shrug and a bright smile, "Must've bumped the lever."

"Uh-huh," Peter said skeptically, crossing his arms, though not before giving Neal a hard whack on the shoulder.

"Oh, look, it's our stop!" Neal said quickly, shooting Peter another winning smile before scampering over the balcony of the seemingly abandoned apartment below Harvey's. "You coming, Butch?" he asked, extending Peter a hand.

"Right behind you, Sundance," Peter said, unable to keep the smile from his face as he took Neal's hand and followed him through the apartment, then out into the hallway, down the elevator to the lobby, and finally out into the balmy night air.

Peter had just slipped one arm around Neal's waist and raised the other to hail a taxi when he caught sight of a long, black car came speeding at them from out of the darkness. He instinctively tightened his grip on Neal and was just reaching for his cell phone when the tinted window of the limousine rolled down to reveal a smiling face.

"Hello!" the driver exclaimed with a cheery wave, "A very pretty lady said you fine gentlemen might be in need of a lift."

Peter let out an infinitesimal sigh of relief as Neal called out, "You're a godsend, Ranjit!" and climbed into the backseat.

"I'm beginning to seriously consider the possibility that Donna is some sort of sorceress," Peter muttered, shaking his head in amazement as he let Neal tug him into the limo.

"Probably best not to ask her," Neal murmured as he began slipping Peter's jacket from his shoulders, "You know, just in case. Don't want her turning you into a frog or anything. Now, where were we?"

Peter let out a self-conscious laugh, suddenly very aware that they were not alone, and called out, "Umm..Ranjit?"

"You need not say a thing, my friend," Ranjit said, turning to give Peter a wink, "Ranjit knows all. I shall let you know when we have reached Mr. Caffrey's apartment." With that, he pressed a small button on the dash, and the partition between the front and back seats began to ascend. Just before it closed completely, Peter could have sworn he heard a pleased voice whispering, "Ranjit is never wrong, no, never wrong."

"Now, where were we?" Neal inquired, not waiting for Peter before answering, "Oh, yes, that's right - I was recklessly undoing all my painstaking handiwork from earlier." With that, he unwound the necktie from Peter's neck in one expertly choreographer move and tossed it onto the empty seat opposite them.

"And after all that fuss you made about my suit," Peter replied as smugly as he could manage under the circumstances. "Seems a bit hypocritical to me."

"So sweet of you to be worried about my integrity," Neal murmured, lingering over Peter's top button. "I can stop if you like."

"It just seems awfully prejudicial," Peter reasoned thoughtfully, "My suit being in pieces while yours remains pristine.". Before Neal could think of a reply, Peter shoved him lightly onto the seat and dexterously slipped off his tuxedo jacket in an effort to even the sartorial score.

It seemed that he had only lowered his lips to Neal's for a few seconds when Ranjit's voice called out, "Home sweet home!"

Peter's attempt to disentangle himself from Neal as quickly as possible, in case Ranjit should decide to lower the partition, resulted in a small collision between his head and the top of the limo, which in turn resulted in him uttering a loud, “Ow!”

Neal let out an instinctual laugh, which he immediately attempted to stifle upon seeing the look Peter was shooting him as he rubbed a hand over the aching area. As if in way of an apology, Neal leaned up and gave him a drawn-out kiss before gathering up the discarded items of clothing, tumbling out of the limo with habitual grace, and hauling Peter out after him.

“Thanks, Ranjit!” Neal shouted, slamming the door of the limo behind them. Ranjit rolled down his window and gave them a jaunty tip of his hat and a cheery wave before driving off into the darkness once more.

Though he understood intellectually that they should just spend the five minutes it would take them to make it to Neal’s apartment, Peter nevertheless found himself grabbing Neal around the waist and pulling him in for another breath-taking kiss. It was some minutes later that he felt a familiar buzzing sensation in his pocket.

“Hold on, my pants are vibrating,” Peter said, reluctantly pulling away from Neal as he reached into his pocket.

“Mmm, I’ve been told I can have that effect,” Neal murmured, kissing the side of his neck in a way Peter found distinctly distracting.

Peter rolled his eyes as convincingly as he could under the circumstances and pulled out his phone with the intention of switching it off. When he caught a glimpse of the screen, however, he exclaimed, “Oh look, Harvey’s texting us.”

Neal promptly snatched the phone from Peter’s hand and began typing a reply, a devilish smile appearing on his face which gave Peter a distinct sense of foreboding.

“Hey, give me that!” Peter exclaimed, trying in vain to snatch the phone from Neal’s grasp.

“There!” Neal said triumphantly, shutting the phone off. “I’ve ensured we won’t be disturbed further.”

“Oh God, what did you say?” Peter demanded, contemplating it with growing horror. “Neal, give me that phone right now.”

Neal merely held the phone above his head, shouted, “If you want it, you’ll have to come get it,” and sprinted laughingly toward June’s townhouse.

“Really? Are we five now?” Peter asked exasperatedly. Of course, this didn’t stop him from darting after Neal as fast as his legs could carry him.

Peter finally caught up with Neal in the little hallway leading to his apartment and, pinning him to the door, exclaimed triumphantly, “See? I warned you, Neal - if you run, I’ll always catch you.”

To Peter's surprise, Neal laid his hands lightly on his shoulders and looked up at him, eyes full of hope and uncertainty. “Promise?” he asked quietly.

Feeling suddenly surrounded by an intense warmth, Peter gave in to his instinctive desire to stroke Neal’s cheek and whispered back, “Yeah, I promise,” before closing the distance between them one final time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to thank everybody for reading and reviewing - you guys are great. Also, I'm currently working on a sequel in the suspense vein, so stay tuned!


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